


Tumblr Drabbles

by well39



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Assorted pairings, General fluff, M/M, One-Shots, Tumblr Prompts, each one is stand-alone, occasional nsfw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:16:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 25,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4816442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/well39/pseuds/well39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted prompts and aus from tumblr requests. Each story is stand-alone, unrelated. Warnings/pairing/au at the beginning of each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spamano parents au

**Author's Note:**

> First up is a spamano request for 'parents meeting as they drop their kids off at school' au.
> 
> I don't have a beta, and these are all from a while ago and unedited, so if you see any errors, please do let me know. Excuse the poor writing, most of them were done in less than an hour.

“Nina! Come back here! You’ve forgotten your lunch!”

“But daddy!” The small girl cast an anxious glance back towards her friends. 

“No buts, you have to eat.” Lovino knelt in front of her, passing over the lunchbox. He’d made certain to pack it full. No daughter of his would ever go hungry. She took it, and made to leave, but he caught her arm. “Uh-uh, what about my kiss goodbye?”

“Daddy!” Nina’s face was appalled. 

He smiled inwardly, but outside he was stern. “You better be quick, or you’re gonna be late.”

She glanced back again, then leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. He returned the favour, then patted her head. 

“Alright, have a good day.”

“Bye daddy!”

He watched as she ran off, backpack bouncing, and joined her friends. They waved to him before leaving, and he waved back, a slight smile on his face.

“You’re very good with her.”

The voice came from behind him, accented and sweet, and Lovino turned, switching to a scowl almost automatically.

“Did I ask for your input dipsh- stick.” At the last moment, he noticed that the man who had approached him was with a child, and changed his words.

This earned him a laugh, and Lovino’s scowl deepened. The child, a boy who had previously been hiding behind his father, peeked out from behind his leg. 

“Say hello, Paco,” encouraged the man. Lovino wanted to tell him where he could shove his hello, but he held himself back. Not in front of the children.

“Hello,” Paco spoke softly, eyes on the ground but for a quick flicker towards Lovino. He ducked back behind his father’s leg, only a tiny hand visible, clutching at the material of the man’s pants.

Lovino’s heart melted.

“Hello there,” he greeted him, offering a smile. The small hand released the pant leg for a moment to wave in his general direction.

“He’s very shy, this one,” said the man, affection all too obvious as he spoke. “I’m Antonio, by the way.” 

Lovino stood, brushing the seat of his pants even though he had only been kneeling. “Lovino,” he replied, and said no more.

Antonio seemed at a loss for a moment, until Paco tugged at his leg to get his attention. He bent over, letting the boy whisper in his ear. 

“Ah, right!” He stood back up and flashed a depreciating grin. “We’re new in town actually. Paco - ow - fine,  _I_  was wondering if maybe you could help us out. You know, show us the lay of the land, that kind of thing.” 

Lovino suppressed a smile at their antics. “Well,” he said, addressing the boy, who was more visible now. “I don’t know about your father and I, but you can talk to my daughter if you want.” He pointed her out for him, and watched as his eyes widened. 

Lovino felt a bit smug at that. He knew his Nina was beautiful, but it was better that everyone did. Of course, if they took that interest too far …

“Ella es muy bonita, eh Paco?”

The boy nodded, a barely perceptible bob of the head, and Antonio beamed.

“You tell her I said she’s to look after you, okay?” Lovino ordered. Paco jumped a bit at that, apprehension creeping onto his features, but nodded nonetheless, a bit more firmly this time. “Good.”

Lovino had no doubt Nina would do just that. She was the kind of girl who thrived with someone to take care of, after all. 

The bell rang, and Antonio ruffled his son’s hair. He smiled when Paco looked up at him, imploring, but shook his head. “No, you have to go. It is not so bad now. You have a ‘person on the inside’, right?”

Paco seemed to waver.

“Go, have fun,” encouraged Antonio. “I’ll pick you up later.”

The boy nodded again, reassuring himself. “Nos vemos, papa.”

“Si, nos vemos. Usted debe darse prisa.”

Face set, Paco re-adjusted his backpack and set off. He waved as he made his way into the crowd. They watched until he passed through the doors with the others and was lost from sight. 

“’Person on the inside’, huh.”

Antonio started. Lovino got the feeling he’d forgotten he was there at all. It pissed him off more than it should have. 

“Ah, we have been watching a lot of tv. He likes the criminal ones.”

“Is that so,” Lovino deadpanned. 

Antonio squirmed. “It helps him to learn English. And it is always better to learn from something you love, yes?”

“Children should be outside.” This was a firmly held belief in his family. “Playing.”

“It is hard,” Antonio laughed, “to play when you do not know the language. Or the people.”

This, Lovino conceded. But it was no good for the boy to stay inside. He thought for a moment.

“What are you doing Thursday?”

“Me?” The look of surprise and happiness on Antonio’s face made Lovino snort. 

“No, some other half-drunk lackwit.” Antonio’s face fell. “Yes you, you stupid asshole.”

“Well, I don’t think I am doing anything?” The man seemed to be having trouble keeping up.

“Good. You will bring Paco, and we will go to the park. They will play, and she can teach him English if she needs to.” Lovino was scribbling his number on a spare receipt he’d fished from his back pocket. He flicked it at Antonio, who caught it by reflex. 

Antonio looked at the paper, and back up, his eyes wide. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not doing this for you,” Lovino scowled. He jabbed a finger into the other man’s chest, glaring up at him. “But no child should be stuck inside, staring at a television, no matter how much they say they like it.” Especially not one as sweet as that, he added in his head.

A smile was spreading across Antonio’s face now, brightening his features. He pulled Lovino into a tight hug, ignoring the smaller man’s indignant squawk.  “Muchas gracias, Lovino!”

Struggling free, Lovino glared up at him, face an appalling shade of red. “Do that again and I’ll kick your balls so far into your body you’ll be singing soprano for a month!” he snarled.

Antonio’s smile faded and he paled slightly. Snorting, Lovino turned to leave. About to open his car door, he stopped.

“Get Paco to read up on dinosaurs,” he called back. “Nina loves them.”

Antonio’s face lit up, and he waved happily.


	2. FrUK roommates au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FrUK as roomates. Warning for mild language.

Arthur Kirkland was a foul-mouthed literature student, aspiring to literature teacher, young and piercingly intelligent. 

Francis Bonnefoy was an eloquent apprentice chef, just graduated from culinary school, ready to take on the world.

Neither of them could afford proper housing.

So it came to be that when Arthur saw the ad in the paper, he jumped on the chance for a share-house, and when Francis got the call about an interested flatmate, he didn’t think twice on agreeing. They moved in together not a week later, having only met once before, all other transactions taking place over the phone. It was perfect. 

Or it could have been, if they didn’t argue so much.

Arthur looked at the overflowing sink.

“Francis,” he called. 

There was no response.

“Francis you absolute knob, get your arse in here right now or I swear I’ll shove my foot so far up-”

“Okay, okay!” Francis appeared in the kitchen doorway, running a hand through his hair. He stopped. Sighed. “Please tell me you’re wearing that ironically.”

Arthur glanced down at his pressed shirt, vest, and slacks. “What?”

“One of these days, cher, I am taking you shopping.”

Arthur scowled. He quite liked the way he dressed. “Coming from the man who’s so ‘hipster’ his beard should be wearing glasses? I’ll pass.” Francis just shrugged. “Why are we talking about this? I wanted you to tell me why you hadn’t done the dishes.”

Francis quirked an eyebrow. “I cooked.”

“Yes, you did,” Arthur said. “Why did you not clean up?”

“I. Cooked.” Francis repeated.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “We have had this conversation,” he said. “Whoever cooks, cleans.”

“We have had this conversation, you’re right.” Francis agreed. “But we decided that since you will cook over my dead body, you would be responsible for the dishes.”

“That! That right there!” Arthur jabbed at the air. “I don’t understand why you insist on making all the food!”

“One, I am a chef.”

“ _Apprentice_  chef.”

Francis ignored him. “Two,” he stepped closer, but Arthur held his ground, glaring at him. “You’re never home in time to begin dinner.”

“I can make time.”

“Three,” they were less than a foot apart now, and Arthur stopped himself from swallowing, keeping their gazes locked. There was a stirring in his belly that he really didn’t want to think about at that moment. Francis lowered his voice. “As much as I adore you, cher, you are an absolutely diabolical cook.” 

Arthur swung at him, and Francis danced back out of reach, laughing as Arthur cursed.

“I have to be at work in half an hour anyway,” Francis said. “You don’t have any classes, right? Take care of it today and we’ll talk when I get back.” He didn’t wait for a reply, ducking around the corner and up the hall towards his room.

Arthur was left abandoned in the kitchen, fuming at the way his request had been so easily dodged. Muttering to himself, he bent over the tiny sink, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and turning the tap.

“Useless plonker.” He squeezed the dish washing liquid with a bit more force than was necessary. A great squirt of green soap sank into the rising water, and Arthur stared at it for a moment. 

That was going to be a lot of bubbles.

He soon found himself up to his elbows in soapy water. The heat was starting to affect him. He wiped the back of his arm across his forehead in an attempt to get rid of the sheen of sweat, and only managed to drop a dollop of foaming bubbles on the end of his nose. He looked at it cross-eyed, scrunching his face, and turned to get a tea towel. There was a snort from behind him. Francis stood there, one hand covering his mouth, eyes twinkling with amusement. 

“Four,” he grinned.

Arthur glared at him, reaching around for the towel hung on the stove. “Four?”

“There is nothing so sexy as a man covered in water.”

Arthur flicked the towel, catching Francis on the side of the head, even as he felt his cheeks flush. With anger, he told himself. “I admire your confidence in assuming I give a shit.” 

Francis pouted. 

“Get to work before I make you finish,” Arthur threatened. 

“If you insist.” Francis leaned in and placed a firm kiss on Arthur’s cheek, ignoring the way he spluttered. “Wish me well!” He escaped before Arthur could respond, laughter echoing down the hallway. 

Arthur clutched his cheek, seething and doing his best to pass over the way his heart was thudding in his chest. “Piss off,” he muttered, far too late.


	3. USUK song and a ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> USUK request based off Rachel Platten's 'Fight Song' (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sQhGnNEFtPk)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by a friend, I left it vague on purpose

Alfred sat in the corner of the diner, away from the window. It wasn’t his usual spot, but he didn’t feel like watching the world pass by today.

Not today.

The sound of the radio drifted though the chatter of the other customers and the banging from the kitchen. All of this was background noise to him as he wrapped his hands around his mug, staring into the warm brown liquid, and traced the ripples with his eyes. 

He was tired. He hadn’t slept in days, sure, but it wasn’t just that. It was the bone-achingly dense, cloudy-headed, sunk-into-your skin kind of tired. He was exhausted, nothing made sense, and his head felt light as a feather on his neck.

 He felt like a boat set to drift at sea. Lost. Small. Spinning out of control more and more with each action he took.

The music coming over the radio switched, and Alfred tightened his grip on his mug. It was a generic, feel-good pop song. The kind of thing he usually scoffed at. His nose stung, and he removed his glasses to scrub at his eyes. 

God, what was he doing? He was stronger than this.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tipped his head back and let the music wash over him. 

He was humming before he realised it, tuneless and not caring. The smile felt unnatural and tight on his mouth. He smiled wider, just because he could.

He was stronger than this. He was strong.

He could do this.

The song ended, and his throat closed. There was an ache in his chest that he hadn’t noticed before.

Leaning forward again, he grabbed the coffee and gulped it down in one, ignoring the way it scalded the inside of his mouth. The heat burned through him, and he was awake. He was awake, he was there, he could do this.

Taking a deep breath, he got up. 

The walk to the door of the diner was easy, he told himself. One step in front of the other. Just one step, and then one more, and he was outside, the chill air hitting his cheeks. He laughed under his breath, and watched it mist before him. 

He looked up.

The sky was wide and clear above him, buildings crowding in at the edges of his vision. The young trees planted along the pavement bent in the breeze, and he leaned into it, letting his coat fly open and the cold air penetrate his skin.

He laughed louder now, heedless of the way the tight feeling in his chest deepened.

He hummed on the way home, the song from the diner on an endless loop in his head.

“…my fight song,” he sung to himself, the words slipping out. “Take back my life song. Prove I’m alright song…” and there, his voice caught. He kept on going. “I’ll be strong-”

Not looking where he was going, he managed to run right into someone on the path. They tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs, Alfred instinctively putting a hand out to break the fall. Pain seared across his palm, and he winced.

“Watch where you’re going, you bloody arse!”

Alfred froze at the British accent, and leaned back. “Arthur?”

The man stopped his tirade of curses and blinked. “Alfred?”

Alfred looked down at Arthur still trapped beneath him, all stunned eyes and messy hair, and felt a weight lift away. He didn’t even realise he was crying until the first tear hit the back of his glasses.

“Al?  _Al?”_ Arthur’s panicked words only made him smile through his tears. “Are you okay? did you hurt yourself? Oh god, your  _hand_.”

“I’m okay,” Alfred told him. He said it again, because it didn’t feel like a lie now. “I’m okay.”

Arthur studied him for a moment, concern etched into his features. Alfred didn’t resist when he felt himself pulled down onto Arthur’s chest, and let his face fall onto his shirt. Arthur’s hands were awkward and gentle as he stroked his hair.

They didn’t speak.

When Alfred finally pulled away, it was with a proper grin. His cheeks were wet, eye’s puffy, and for the first time in a long time, his chest was light.

He could do this.

“You’re okay?” Arthur asked, because they were still lying there, in the middle of the footpath, with people shooting them both looks as they navigated around them.

Alfred nodded, and rolled to the side, letting Arthur stand. He reached down a hand and pulled Alfred to his feet, dusting him off with brisk movements. Once that was done, he took Alfred by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.

“You are coming with me,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument, “and we are going to talk. You are going to talk to me.”

And Alfred nodded again, because right at that moment, nothing sounded better. He followed Arthur when he began to walk, and somewhere along the way, started humming again.

“…cause I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me.”

This time, when he smiled, it was real.

 


	4. Gerita lab partners au

“And Feliciano, you can be with…who doesn’t have a partner?” The teacher glanced around the room. Ludwig stiffened and quickly looked out the window, but it was too late. “Beilschmidt’s free, you can join him.”

Sighing, Ludwig shifted his stool over, making room for the cheerful boy to sit. It always seemed to end up this way. Perhaps he should just give in and ask next time, before the teacher decided to make a scene out of it. He glanced over to where Feliciano had begun doodling idly in his notebook, smile playing on his lips. He appeared to be sketching a cartoon of the professor.

Perhaps not.

The teacher began the class. Ludwig gathered the materials they would need, placing them on the bench in order of use. Feliciano either didn’t notice, or didn’t think his help was necessary, as he had not moved his eyes from the notebook. Ludwig did his best to ignore him, knowing from experience that he would just get in the way if asked to assist.

Halfway through the lesson, Ludwig felt a tap on his arm. With an idea of what he would find, he resisted the urge to turn around and continued pouring chemicals into the beaker. The tap came again, a little harder this time.

Closing his eyes briefly, Ludwig turned. As expected, he was met with Feliciano’s radiant smile.

“Yes?”

His partner slid the notebook across the workbench. When he looked down, Ludwig saw that he had been right. It was the teacher. Feliciano had somehow managed to make that apparent even through the clown-like expression. Ludwig didn’t realise he was smiling until he glanced up and met Feliciano’s eyes. He quickly composed his face, sliding the notebook back.

“You shouldn’t be doing such things in class,” he muttered, turning back to the beaker. He caught the flash of mischief on Feliciano’s face, and almost said something else, before closing his mouth.

And the tap came again. Ludwig didn’t bother with trying to ignore him this time, only placed the chemicals back on the bench, swivelling on his stool. Feliciano’s face was carefully blank as he handed over the notebook.

It was the professor again, this time as a parrot. The terrible sweater he always wore was now the ruffled plumage, his famous nose transformed into a large beak. It was all drawn so realistically, and with such a stern expression on the parrot’s face, that Ludwig struggled to keep from smiling once more. Feliciano wasn’t fooled, and grinned, triumphant, when Ludwig handed back the book.

They spent the rest of the lesson like that, in a battle of wills. Ludwig would work, Feliciano would draw, and every now and then attempt to break through Ludwig’s facade by showing him the latest doodle. They continued to become more and more outrageous, until it was a real fight to keep from laughing.

Eventually, Ludwig gave up on the lab work as a lost cause, instead watching with interest as Feliciano sketched. The book was shielded from his view, but it was fascinating just watching the way Feliciano’s face changed as he drew. The usual relaxed look fell away as he concentrated. Occasionally he would smile, or frown, mimicking the expressions of whatever he was drawing, and then his face would smooth, satisfied.

Ludwig blinked, realising he’d been staring, and quickly focused his attention to the front of the room. The class was almost over, and he’d got nothing done. He hurried to jot down the notes on the board in his own book, for once glad of the fact this teacher focused more on theory than practice.

The bell rang, and he began to pack up, cleaning out the beaker and test tubes and stacking them neatly back in their places. Beside him, Feliciano sat back from his notebook with a smile. He tore the page out of the book and folded it up, scribbling something on the back of the paper.

“Feli,” Lovino, Feliciano’s older brother, was waiting by the door of the classroom, impatient. He shot a glare at Ludwig. “Hurry up.”

Feliciano gathered up his books and left, giving Ludwig a wave as he headed out the door. Too late, Ludwig noticed he’d left the piece of paper on the bench, and went to call out when he registered his name written on the back.

Curious, he turned it over. There was a note there, in Feliciano’s flowing handwriting.

 _To Luddy_ , it read.  _You have a beautiful smile_.

Ludwig frowned, unfolding the paper.

There, jumping out at him, was a picture of himself. His eyes were lit with mirth, one side of his mouth quirked up, as he looked at something in his hands. A stray hair rested on his forehead, catching the light. It was a gentle picture, a quick sketch, all messy lines and soft edges, and it took Ludwig’s breath away.

“Beilschmidt? Class is over.”

Ludwig started at the teacher’s voice. “Yes, I - sorry sir,” he said, hurrying to fold the paper. He placed it carefully in his notebook before gathering the rest of his things and rushing out the door.

His heart was beating fast as he made his way through the crowded hallway.

Perhaps he would ask, next time. It might be nice, having a partner that didn’t get in his way, he told himself. It couldn’t hurt, not if they would end up together regardless.

Yes, perhaps he would ask.


	5. Prucan knocking on the wrong door au

Matthew had just sat down for dinner when there was a loud banging at the door. He started and knocked over his glass, spilling water over the table. Cursing, he scrambled for something to mop it up with as the banging continued.

“Yes, I’m coming!” he shouted, frustration leaking into his voice as he ripped off his shirt and used it to stop the water dripping onto the carpet. Debating whether to get another shirt, he cursed again as the banging got louder.

Screw it.

He ripped open the front door of his apartment. “ _What?”_ he growled.

Standing there was a white-haired man, slack-jawed and swaying on his feet.

“Y’ not Francis,” he slurred.

“No, I am not. Francis is down the hall.”

“Huh.” The man didn’t move. He gazed at Matthew with half-lidded red eyes and licked his lips. 

Matthew found himself wishing he had taken the time to find a shirt, and instead crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Can I help you with something else?”

“I dunno,” the man grinned, showing his teeth. “Can you?”

Matthew stared at him for a moment. 

Was that meant to be a pick-up line?

“You know what, I think I’ll show you to his door,” Matthew decided. He really didn’t want this guy getting the wrong place again and bothering the old lady in number 302.

“Ooh, you taking me out?” The man stumbled, and Matthew lurched forward to catch him before he fell. He was surprisingly light.

“Jesus Christ, how much did you drink?”

The man laughed against his shoulder. “Not enough, Toni beat me.” He stiffened. “Oh yeah, Toni! Toni’s back at the bar, I left Toni at the bar and he’s gonna be sooooo pissed oh shit. Whaddo I do?”’

“I don’t know,” Matthew grunted, heaving the guy forward down the hall. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you left him there.”

“Oh,” the man gained his feet for a second, seemingly trying to assist Matthew’s efforts. “You’re prob’ly right. Everyone’s right about things. I’m right too, sometimes.”

He babbled on as they made their way slowly towards number 308, Matthew dragging him more than he walked. They reached the door, and Matthew extracted one of his arms in order to give the old wood a hard rap.

It opened after a minute, and Francis stood there a moment, blinking at the sight before him. Once again, Matthew regretted his lack of clothing.

“Don’t ask, please,” Matthew said when he opened his mouth. “Just take your friend.”

Francis shut his mouth with good grace, and reached out to grab one of the man’s shoulders. “I’m sorry about Gilbert,” he said instead. “He can be a bit-”

“Awesome?” Gilbert interrupted, lifting his head from where it had been lolling. “I can be totally awesome, there’s no one more awes-” he hiccupped.

Francis chuckled as he shifted and slung one of Gilbert’s arms over his neck. “Yes yes, of course.” He looked to Matthew. “There wasn’t another one, by any chance?” The question hung in the air.

“He did say he’d left ‘Toni’ back at the bar,” Matthew reported, glad not to have to carry the man anymore.

Francis groaned. “The one night I don’t go with you,” he scolded Gilbert, slapping his hand away when the drunk tried to stroke his beard. “Regardless, I’m sorry for the trouble, Mathieu.”

“Its fine,” he said, even though it wasn’t really. He was sure his dinner had gone cold by now.

Gilbert was mumbling something, and they leaned closer to hear. “Matthew, Matthew…” his head snapped up. “Mattie!”

“Yes?” he asked, startled.

Gilbert leaned in and pressed a sloppy kiss to Matthew’s lips. Too shocked to move, Matthew just stood there until Gilbert broke away with a grin. 

“Y’ cute, yanno Mattie?” he slumped into Francis’ arms, satisfied. “Y’ real cute.”

Matthew looked at him, this uncoordinated drunk, barely supporting his own weight. He pressed a hand to his mouth. “Well… thank you. I think?”

Francis observed the two of them with an unreadable expression. “Right. Time to get you to bed,” he told Gilbert, heaving him inside. “Again, sorry for the trouble,” he gave Matthew an apologetic smile, before shutting the door.

“It’s not a problem,” he replied, far too late. 

For a moment he simply stood in the hallway, staring at the closed door. Shaking his head, he made his way back to his apartment.

 

In the morning, he found a note slipped under his door, with a number and the hastily scrawled words “ _I still think you’re cute. Call me!_ ”

He hummed as he placed the note on his dresser, a small smile dancing over his lips.

There was no way he was going to call him.

 


	6. OzNZ morning after hc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off this - http://asknewzealand.tumblr.com/post/119134604206/imagine-aph-australia-cooking-with-the-radio-on  
> Jett is Oz, Kaelin is NZ

Morning was turning to afternoon, but for Jett and Kaelin, it was a lazy Sunday, and they had yet to make breakfast. Or rather, Jett had yet to make breakfast. He’d given up on getting his boyfriend to leave his warm cocoon of blankets after being threatened with a particularly nasty death involving some screws and a pair of thongs. It was safe to say Kaelin didn’t function well without coffee.

Not bothering to put on a shirt, he wandered out to the kitchen and flicked on the radio, opening the fridge with his foot. He peered inside at the meagre offerings with a fair amount of trepidation. It had been a while since they had cleaned it out. After a second, he decided they would have eggs. Eggs were good. Safe. The eggs didn’t have mould growing on them, and were those leftovers  _moving_? Shuddering, he grabbed the carton and shut the door.

Oh yeah, they definitely needed to clean the fridge.

He put that to the back of his mind for the moment and got to work on the coffee, setting the task of getting Kaelin awake as his top priority. His feet tapped to the music as he waited for the water to boil, and he hummed under his breath.

“G’morning,” Kaelin yawned from the doorway, trailing blankets behind him.

Jett grinned. Well that was one less thing to do. “Morning! Smell get you?” he asked as he handed over a mug.

“Mmn,” Kaelin mumbled, flopping into a seat at the bench.

Jett dropped a kiss on the top of his head and dodged the returning punch with practiced ease. It helped that Kaelin was half-asleep still.

Humming along to the music, he danced his way to the pan. The butter sizzled when he cracked the eggs over it, and delicious smells filled the kitchen. The bread on the counter was fresh enough, so he popped some into the toaster. Glancing behind him, he saw Kaelin watching with hungry, half-lidded eyes.

“It’ll be done soon,” he laughed. “You can wait a few minutes.”

Kaelin shook his head, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “I was looking at you, but either way.”

“Oh?” Jett looked down at his ratty boxer shorts, and noticed an unfortunate hole. “ _Oh_ , whoops. Well, that’ll have to wait a few minutes too,” he winked.

Kaelin shook his head in mock disgust.

The song on the radio changed and his ears perked. He knew this one.

He grinned at the look of horror on Kaelin’s face. He knew this one too.

“ _SomeBODY once told me_ -”

“Jett, no.”

“- _the world is gonna roll me_ ,” he continued, heedless.

“I will end you.”

Jett spun around, socks sliding on the smooth floor, and grabbed the olive oil, using it as a pretend microphone as he sung.  “ _I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed_!”

Kaelin dropped the blankets and stood, and Jett backed away even as he continued singing. He took cover behind the bench, eye’s locked with Kaelin’s as they darted from side to side.

“ _Didn’t make sense_ ,’” his voice rose to a squeak as Kaelin growled and dived over the top. He managed to avoid the tackle, and ran around the other side.

The chase continued, Jett at one point swapping the bottle of oil for their broom stick, which was a good choice. He could use it as a guitar and a weapon. Kaelin chose the might of the tea-towel, and Jett cackled. The cackle changed to a shriek of pain as Kaelin whipped the towel against his bare shoulders. From then on the broom was used for range, as Jett stubbornly fended off attacks to keep singing, off-key and breathless as it was.

“Give up, will you?” Kaelin panted, glaring.

“ _Hey now, you’re a rock star_!”

“Jett!”

“ _Get your show_ \- oh fuck!” Jett dropped the broom and dashed past Kaelin, who stood confused at his sudden abandonment of their game.

The eggs were smouldering away, overcooked and black at the edges. He groaned. The last lines of the song died out as he stared morosely into the pan, his stomach grumbling from the unexpected exercise.

“Well, those can be yours then,” Kaelin commented, peering over his shoulder.

Snagging the toast, Kaelin whipped the towel on Jett’s butt, and he let out a whimper.

 


	7. Dennor nanny/single parent au

Emil was happy.

He didn’t make a show of it. He wasn’t the type to smile for no reason, skip down the hall, or hum while walking. In fact, he was more likely to scowl and wriggle away if someone - Matthias or Lukas, it didn’t matter - tried to hold him. But he was happy. 

He spent his days at home, for the most part. Occasionally Matthias would coax him outside with the promise of an ice-cream at the park, and they would spend a few hours at the playground, Emil hogging one end of the see-saw. It was rare that anyone would join him, so he would sit and bounce himself up and down while Matthias chatted to the parents and other nannies. Emil liked to watch as he introduced himself. He could always tell the point he mentioned his job, as it always coincided with a collective double-take from whoever he was talking to at the time. That was about when Emil would get tired of the park, and come and tug at Matthias’ hand. On the way home, they would collect the ice-cream - chocolate for Emil, strawberry for Matthias - and take their time on the walk back to the apartment. There was no rush. Lukas wouldn’t be back from work until late in the evening.

Matthias cooked dinner. When he first started, he had been an abysmal cook, but he practiced every night, and soon the smells wafting from the kitchen would draw Emil downstairs from his room before he had to be called. 

They ate in the lounge room, and scrambled for the remote. Whoever got it first got to choose the channel for the night, and more often than not, Emil would exit the wrestle triumphant, eyes bright and holding the remote aloft in victory as Matthias winced from a well-placed kick. But even when he lost, Matthias would be smiling as he settled into the couch, patting the spot next to him in silent invitation.

After all the food was gone, Emil was often so full he couldn’t move. That was why, when Matthias pulled him into his lap and wrapped his arms around him, Emil didn’t do more than grumble sleepily. At the very least, he made a convenient blanket.

Neither of them would ever bring up the idea of bed. Not before Lukas returned home. 

When the key would finally turn in the lock of the front door, Emil’s eyes would fly open, and he would bounce to his feet. Matthias would be asleep, not budging. Sometimes, Emil woke him, and they would go to the door together. Most times he didn’t bother, and dashed over to the entrance by himself, flying into Lukas’ open arms. 

If the day had been hard, the hug would be hard, and Lukas would bury his face into his hair for a few moments before pulling away. If the day had been easy, the hug would be long and gentle, Emil squirming at the small kisses placed on his cheeks and forehead. On really good days, however, the hugs were tight, and kisses many, and Lukas would lift him up and spin him around, a light in his eyes that Emil didn’t often see there anymore. Though he squeaked and struggled to get away, Emil liked those days best.

They would wake Matthias, if they had to, and herd themselves into the kitchen. There, Matthias would chatter aimlessly as he re-heated Lukas’ share of dinner, asking how the day went, and smiling to himself at the one-word answers. Lukas always ate as though he’d be missing something, and the food would disappear in minutes. The two adults never lingered long there, but would each take one of Emil’s hands, and pull him to his feet. They would navigate the staircase together, waiting patiently as he made his way slowly up to the top. 

Once in bed, Matthias would read to him, stories from a large book he kept by Emil’s bedside, as Lukas stood in the doorway and listened. They were old tales, of magic and wonder, and Emil was far too old for them by now. That’s what he said every night, once they were done. They ignored him. Matthias would ruffle his hair, and grin before leaving the room. Only then would Lukas step close, tuck the blankets in firmly, and brush a soft kiss on each of Emil’s eyelids, whispering goodnight.

On occasion, he would wake in the middle of the night and wander downstairs. Sometimes it was quiet, gentle murmurs coming from the living room tv, and he would find Matthias and Lukas sleeping on the couch, their bodies curved against one another as they rested. Other times, he could hear music before he left his room, and he would sit at the top of the stairs and watch as they waltzed around the kitchen, or simply rocked from foot to foot, held tight in each other’s arms. Every now and then, he would wake in the morning and Matthias would already be there, as though he’d never left. 

Emil didn’t question the day Matthias stopped going home. It seemed natural to have him there. And if that was the reason Lukas was smiling more, then that was all the better.

Emil was happy. He wasn’t the type to make a show of it. 

But he was happy.

 


	8. USOz meeting at a party au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reuest for USOz 'meeting at a party whilst drunk' au  
> Jett is Oz  
> Warning for swearing, and (not serious) mention of suicide

The open doors let the music pound into Jett’s head as he leaned over the balcony to get some fresh air. His fingers were loose on his cup, letting it tilt just a smidge too far. He ignored the slosh of cheap beer that splattered the sand below.

The view over the lake stretched out before him, and he couldn’t help but admire the scenery. It was different from home, sure, but it was still beautiful. Trees ranged along the banks, grass coming nearly all the way down to the water’s edge. There was ample room for children to play, relax and swim. The calm shallows fascinated Jett. In the time just before dawn, like it was now, the stars and moon would fade away, and without reflection, the water looked more like black silk than anything. Today however, light from the party spilled out over the yard and down to the lake, tracing over the surface and wavering where small wavelets lapped at the shore.

The urge to swim over took him. He found himself judging the distance to the ground with half-lidded eyes. Going back inside and taking the stairs was not an option he’d considered.

It wasn’t too far. Only three meters or so.

Stretching him arms over his head, he climbed up onto the railing with a grunt. He may be drunk, but his motor skills were as good as ever, and he stood on the thin strip of wood without a wobble. Taking a last swig out of the cup, he chucked it over his shoulder and squared off to the open space before him.

“Prepare for launch,” Jett muttered under his breath, a grin tugging at his lips. “Blast off in three, two…”

He crouched, prepared to jump as far forward as he could. He wanted to see how far he’d get.

“One!” 

He leapt off the railing with a whoop. Or he would have, but for the sudden snag of his shirt on something behind him. His whoop turned strangled as he tumbled backwards onto the hard wooden decking, landing with a heavy thud. Breath knocked out of him, he lay there for a moment, heart racing from the unexpected fall.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” asked a pissed off voice.

Jett glared up through watering eyes as he struggled to get his breath back. Standing over him was a blond, well-built, man. Hands on his hips, the man’s blue eyes flashed behind his glasses. His cheeks were tinged red - whether from anger or alcohol, Jett couldn’t tell.

“What the fuck mate?” Jett wheezed, struggling to sit up.

“That’s my question! Are you trying to kill yourself?” the man jabbed a finger into Jett’s chest, and he winced. “Who the hell just jumps like that?”

“I fucking do,” Jett snapped, returning the jab before he shoved the man away. “Who the hell just stops me?” Shit, this guy was heavier than he looked.

“Alfred fucking Jones does.” The man puffed out his chest as he spoke. “I’m not having anyone off themselves at my lil’ brothers party, thank you very much.”

Jett shook his head. This guy was unbelievable. “Off themselves? It’s the second story you bloody doofus.”

Alfred paused, and peered out over the edge. His chest seemed to deflate slightly.

“So it is…” he sounded disappointed.

“I wasn’t gonna die from that, no matter how I fell,” Jett said.

Alfred turned back around, defensive. “You could have, I dunno, landed on your head or something.”

“Like just now?”

“Yeah. Wait, no!” Alfred glared at him. “That wasn’t your head.”

“No, it was my aching ass actually. Cheers for that,” Jett said, sarcasm dripping from the words. He stood with a groan, bending over to dust himself off.

Alfred’s eyes traveled down Jett’s body as he got up, then snapped back to his face. He was redder now, throat working without sound.

“Yeah, well, next time don’t land wrong,” he finally managed.

“Next time?” Jett grinned. 

He hadn’t missed the way Alfred had checked him out. He returned the favour with interest, gaze lingering a bit too long on the curves of young muscle under the tight shirt. 

“You know what I mean,” Alfred grumbled.

“Not really.” Now that the initial shock had worn off and he’d had a chance to get a proper look at the guy, Jett was feeling a lot more amicable towards him. Alcohol fueled bravery made him step closer. “Explain it to me.”

Alfred seemed oblivious to the meager amount of space between their bodies. This close, Jett could smell the beer on his breath. “Of course you do.”

“Unless you mean you’re gonna be there to pull me back ‘next time’,” Jett made air quotes with his fingers, “then, nope.” Alfred opened his mouth to reply, but Jett interrupted. “And even if that was what you meant, I’m not sure I’d want you to.” 

His neck was still sore, and he was certain there was going to be a giant bruise on his butt in the morning. He rubbed it at the thought, and noticed Alfred’s eyes follow his hand. They flicked back up to meet Jett’s. Neither of them looked away.

Alfred cleared his throat. “How about I get you a drink as an apology?”

Jett hadn’t expected the offer; he accepted without blinking.

“Alright,” he said. His face stretched in a shark-like grin. “Sure you can handle it? I’m not exactly a lightweight.”

Alfred bristled. “That a challenge?”

“Might be.”

Alfred considered him for a moment. Then he smiled.

“You’re on.”

 


	9. Pruame roommates au

Gilbert chucked the dirty rag he’d been using into a bucket and collapsed face-first onto his bare mattress. He was _tired_.

Moving was such a pain.

He’d spent the past three hours cleaning, and then getting all his stuff into the room and organizing it, and now all he wanted to do was lie there and sleep, but he knew he couldn’t. He had to be awake when his roommate came in. He didn’t want their first impression to be him passed out on an unmade bed. That would undermine his true abilities. That would be wrong.

So he couldn’t fall asleep.

 

Gilbert woke to the smell of food, and his stomach growled. Eyes snapping open, he shot up in bed, hampered somewhat by the heavy blanket tucked over him.

Blanket?

He squinted against the glare from the ceiling light and looked around. There were new piles of boxes littering the floor, and an unfamiliar poster on the wall.

“Yo, sleeping beauty awakes,” said a cheerful voice.

Gilbert looked over to the other bed. Lounging against the wall was a young man, blond haired, blue-eyed, and laughing.

“I guess you’re-”

“I’m Alfred, yeah,” he said, taking a bite from a half-devoured burger. “Nice to meetcha.”

“Gilbert.” He considered the man before him, and grinned. “Thanks for the blanket, but I didn’t need it.”

Alfred shook his head. “You looked cold.”

“I’m from Germany, I don’t get cold.”

“You were shivering.”

“That was me trembling in excitement over finally being able to defeat the Huns.” Gilbert stated archly. Then he deflated. “It’s taken me weeks to have another go at that dream, and I lost it just before I got to Attila.”

Alfred barked with laughter, spewing crumbs over his shirtfront. 

Once he’d calmed down, he threw a paper-wrapped package over to Gilbert, who snatched it out of the air.

“A burger?” He looked at the pile of similarly shaped objects at the foot of Alfred’s bed. “How many do you have?”

“I’m a growing boy,” Alfred said. He chewed thoughtfully. “Although it might be more that I’m celebrating my independence.”

Gilbert chuckled as he unwrapped his food. “Finally get away, and the first thing you want is Mc Donald’s?”

“My dad can’t cook to save his life, and it sure as hell wasn’t saving mine. You’d want Micky D’s too.”

A grin stretched over Gilbert’s face. “How bout I take you out for a  _real_  celebration later on?”

Alfred eyed him over his latest burger. 

“Aw c’mon, it’ll be fun, I’ll invite a couple of my friends and we’ll hit the town! I heard there’s good nightlife around here.”

“You invite every stranger out like this, or am I special?”

“Sugar, I’m hurt. Did you forget we’re living together already?”

Alfred snorted. “Alright, I’m in.”

“Yes!” Gilbert punched the air, and stood up on his bed, wobbling slightly on the unsteady surface. He cleared his throat. “To a long and lasting relationship, without any fighting over bathrooms - cause I get it from six to seven am and I’ll take no arguments.” He raised his burger and looked across at Alfred, eyes gleaming with expectation.

“Fine, but I get it in the evening.” Alfred stood too, scattering wrappers at his feet. He raised his arm with a smile. “To freedom!”

Gilbert snickered. “To freedom!”

 


	10. Sufin cop/person getting a speeding ticket au

Berwald was distracted that day. He was rushed, late for the meeting, and had gone without breakfast. So he might not have been keeping as close an eye on the speed as he should have. And he might not have pulled over as fast as he could have. And he might have glared, just a little too much, into his rear mirror as the cop stepped off their motorbike.

But damn it all, he did not want to deal with Matthias after he was late. He didn’t get along with his boss on the best of days.

“Oh it had to be today too, didn’t it? Well done Berwald, you’re a star, you are, keep on like this and…” muttering to himself, he rolled down the window, leaning over to the passenger seat to pop the glove-box and grab the registration papers. He was digging in his wallet for his licence when there was a rap on the roof. He scowled upwards, going to tell the officer to wait, when the words caught in his throat.

The cop was hot. Not hot in a sexy way, although those pants were criminally tight, and leather was, well, leather was a good look. But hot in the steals-your-breath-and-keeps-it way. Dusty blond hair fell over one blue eye, mussed from the helmet, which he carried under his arm. The other hand rested lightly on the gun strapped to his hip, and he stood relaxed, weight on one leg as he looked into the car.

“Do you know why I pulled you over today, sir?” the officer asked, with the tone of someone who had done it a thousand times before. 

Berwald just stared.

“Sir?”

He blinked. “Oh. Uh, no?” 

Yeah, that was real smooth.

“Sir, you were ten kilometres over the speed limit,” the officer peered into the car. “Is there anyone with you today?”

“No.”

“Alright, I’m going to need your licence and registration please.”

Berwald handed them over, hand lingering just a bit when their fingers touched. He watched as the officer went over the papers, pulling out a small book and pen and scribbling the details there. 

“Oxenstierna … Scandinavian?” The officer didn’t look away from the ticket as he wrote it out, balancing the book on the top of his helmet.

“Swedish,” Berwald replied, happy for an excuse to make conversation.

“Huh,” he finished writing the ticket and ripped it out, giving the paper a flick to dry the ink. “Bit of a mouthful, but not as bad as Väinämöinen.” He flashed a smile. “My family’s from Finland. It’s nice to see some fellow northerners around, don’t you think?”

Berwald just nodded, mute as he took the ticket. 

“Sign the bottom there, and pay it within the next 28 days, and we’re all good,” Officer Väinämöinen told him. He gave Berwald a brilliant smile, rapped on the roof of the car, and turned to leave. “You have a good day now.”

“Wait!” Berwald wasn’t sure why he called out.

The officer turned back around, resignation on his features. “Is there a problem, sir?”

“What? No, I-” Berwald searched for an excuse. “I was just wondering, what’s, um, what’s your name? Your first name?”

The officer’s face cleared, although he did seem a bit baffled as to why Berwald would want to know. “Tino,” he said. There was laughter in his voice as he replaced the helmet on his head, covering his face but for the small rectangle of the visor. “It was nice meeting you, Berwald.”

Tino started the motor, pushing back the kickstand with an easy thrust of his heel. Checking the lane was clear, he gave Berwald a last wave before flicking the visor down over his eyes and revving out onto the road.

Berwald watched him go with mixed feelings.

He was late. Probably fired, by now. He had a fine of - he checked the ticket - two hundred dollars to pay. 

And he’d just met the most stunning person he had ever come across.

Maybe, if he was lucky, Tino would be there when he went in to pay up.

 


	11. FrUK teacher/single parent au

Francis eyed the children from where he sat behind the desk. Many kids were off sick today, so it was quiet, but of course Alfred was still his usual boisterous self. Matthew stuck by him, keeping him out of too much trouble. Thank god for small mercies. He shuddered to think what class would be like without the younger twin to keep his brother in check.

And their father…well, much could be said about Arthur Kirkland, but he did well with the boys. Francis smiled. Among all the parents he had to deal with, the fussy Englishman was a personal favourite of his. Mainly because he brooked no nonsense. He had absolutely no time for Francis’ flirtations.

Arthur had made such a hobby of refusing his advances it had almost become a game between the two of them. Far from deterring him, it made Francis want to pursue him all the more. He was determined to try again today.

The final bell rang. 

“Alright everyone, time to pack up - no Alfred, I see you there, put that away.”

“But  _Mr Bonnefoooy_ ,” Alfred whined, clutching the toy truck to his chest.

“No buts, look at your brother, he’s - ah, Mathieu, not you too?”

The little boy flushed, shifting to hide the stuffed bear behind his back. Francis sighed.

“Boys, you can’t take them home, we have been through this before.”

They pouted, the expression strikingly similar on both faces, but they did as he asked. Once all the toys were packed away, pencils returned to their cases, and bags were on shoulders, Francis led them outside to the waiting buses and cars. While the other children headed home, he waited on the stairs with those whose parents were running late. 

Eventually, it was just Alfred and Matthew left. Francis plopped himself down in between them where they were seated on the stone steps and looked out into the near-empty parking lot.

“Late again, it seems,” Francis stated. He himself was excited at the prospect of meeting Arthur, but he knew the twins were bored.

“He’s at work,” Alfred said. He kicked his feet out and back. “It can’t be helped.”

Matthew nodded, face nearly disappearing behind the backpack on his lap. “Dad gets busy.”

Francis smiled at them, and reached out to ruffle their hair. Alfred swatted his hand away with a look that said ‘I’m not a child!’, but Matthew leaned into the touch. “You’ll have to tell him what we did today when he comes.”

They nodded. Matthew sunk even further down behind his bag as they waited, until all that could be seen of him was one stray curl. Alfred soon grew impatient, jumping up to investigate the trail of ants marching over the pavement. 

A car pulled into the lot. Alfred stopped what he was doing and raced back over to get his bag, Matthew standing so fast his bag dropped to the ground. 

Arthur slammed the car door shut and trotted up the path towards them, and the boys raced out to meet him. Francis trailed behind, picking up Matthews abandoned backpack along the way. 

“ _Oof!_ ” Arthur suffered the twin’s tackle, struggling to stay upright.

“You’re late! You’re late!” they chorused, jumping up and down beside him. Francis smiled at the children’s glowing faces.

“I know, I’m sorry, you two,” Arthur crouched down and pulled the boys in for a hug. They squealed, making a show of trying to get away, but not moving out of his grasp. He placed a kiss on each of their cheeks and stood again, not letting go of their hands. He looked to Francis. “And I’m sorry to keep you, Mr Bonnefoy. Thank you for staying with them.”

“Please, I told you to call me Francis,” he interjected, ignoring the raised eyebrow this got him. “And it’s not a problem at all. The boys are angels.”

Arthur’s face softened as he looked down to them again. “They are absolute terrors,” he said as he squeezed their hands. They poked their tongues out at him, and he returned the favour.

Francis felt his chest warm as he watched. This. This was what he liked about Arthur. This was why he couldn’t stop trying.

“Alright boys, time to say goodbye.”

“Ah, just a moment, if you would.” 

Arthur cocked his head to the side, scrutinizing, and damn if that wasn’t adorable. 

“It’s nothing untoward, I’d simply like to have a private word,” Francis reassured him.

Arthur eyed him for a moment more. “Alright,” he agreed. “Al, Mattie, you go get strapped in. And it’s Matthew’s turn in the front Alfred, don’t argue with me on this!” he called as they ran off towards the car.

Francis couldn’t help but grin once it was just the two of them. 

“So.” Arthur spoke with caution. “What did you want to say?”

Francis hummed. “Not so much say, as ask. How does dinner tomorrow night sound?”

Arthur groaned.

“No no, hear me out!” Francis was smiling even as he tried to con himself into a date. “You, me, a candle-lit table by the river…”

“Mr Bonnefoy,” Arthur pointedly did not use his first name. Francis ignored the thrill it gave him. “We have been over this. I am a single father, I do not have the time to play around - and, more than that, you teach my children.”

“But otherwise, there’s no problem?”

Arthur huffed. “That is not the point, what I’m saying is-”

“One night,” Francis wheedled. “Day, even. We could get lunch.” He gave his most winning smile. “I promise to be on my best behaviour, Mr Kirkland.”

Arthur glared at the use of his surname, knowing full well Francis did it to spite him. “Regardless, I cannot allow myself to…”

Francis held up Matthew’s backpack.

“…why do you have that?”

“Mathieu was very eager to see you this afternoon. They both were, after waiting so long.” Francis knew he was playing dirty, but he didn’t care.

“I don’t think I quite understand what you’re getting at.”

Francis hoped he was right. He hoped Arthur really did like him, and was just making excuses. Otherwise this could all go very wrong.

“It would be such a shame, if say, this bag were to be lost somewhere, without ever finding its way back to its proper owner.” He would never do it. Arthur knew that too. He hoped. “Especially after all the effort that went into the pictures he has in here. Such a shame.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Dinner, huh?”

“Oui, cher. Dinner is all I ask.”

Arthur appeared to consider the ‘offer’, and for a moment, Francis thought he had him. Then those formidable brows snapped into place. Arthur plucked the backpack out of his hand and turned on his heel. Francis’ heart sank. 

Ah well. 

“Is 7:00 alright?”

Francis looked up to Arthur with wide eyes, not quite believing his ears. He was still facing away, but hadn’t moved to leave.

“Pardon?”

“I said, 7:00. Tomorrow. Take it or leave it.” Arthur shifted where he stood.

“I’ll take it, I’ll take it,” Francis was grinning now, his face stretched wide. 

Arthur glanced back over his shoulder and frowned, a slight tinge to his cheeks. “Stop that. It doesn’t suit you.”

Francis’ grin only widened. 

Arthur shook his head as he made his way back to the car. Francis did not move as they drove off, waving to the boys until they were out of sight around the corner. 

He couldn’t believe it. 

He had a date.

 


	12. OzNZ lab partners au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jett is Oz, Kaelin is NZ

Jett shifted on the hard plastic stool, casting a nervous glance at his partner. Kaelin sat in silence, gazing at the board, hands clasped on the table in front of him. Neither of them were paying much attention to Mr Kirkland’s droning voice. While this was a daily occurrence for Jett, who would much rather be outside, it was outright rare to see such behaviour from his partner.

“Oi,” Jett hissed. The whisper went ignored. “ _Oi!_ ”

Kaelin didn’t look at him, instead lifting a hand to his head and sighing. The singed ends of his hair had curled into ridiculous balls of fluff, giving the impression of a baby lamb. The contrast of the fuzzy curls and scorched nose was too much, and Jett once again fought to hold back laughter at the sight. He almost won too, but for a tiny smile that edged its way onto his lips. 

It did not go unnoticed. Kaelin flicked him a glare, and his smile faded.

“Damn it, Kae, it was a bloody accident.” Jett groaned under his breath. “It’s not like I got off scot free either, y’know.” He winced, fingering his own burnt face where the bridge of his nose was covered with a Band-Aid.

“But you’re not the one who looks like a bad eighties ad for wool now, are you?” Kaelin muttered. Jett grimaced.

“Look, I did  _not_  know it would do that,” he reasoned. “Things don’t normally go boom in the school lab.”

“They don’t normally have idiots like you in charge of the chemicals.” Jett opened his mouth to protest, but Kaelin cut him off without looking away from the board. “Just shut up for now, will you?”

Sinking further down onto his stool, Jett sighed. It really had been an accident. It’s not like he didn’t get the whole science-y business. It was just that…well, he was more of an outdoors person. Being cooped inside mixing who knows what in little beakers wasn’t really his thing. It wasn’t Kaelin’s either, but since Mr Kirkland was the teacher he made more of an effort. Glancing at the boy, Jett saw his attention was fixed to the front of the room. Trying to be quiet, he scooted the stool closer and resettled himself.

Much better.

Kaelin didn’t look away from the teacher, but Jett could see he was wary. Grinning, he brushed their forearms together. Kaelin stiffened.

“I haven’t forgiven you yet,” he growled out the side of his mouth.

“Sure you haven’t,” Jett laughed. He went to clasp Kaelin’s hand, but it slid out of the way. Unperturbed, Jett tried again, and again the hand escaped his grasp. Soon, their arms were locked in a mini-wrestling match under the desk, and Jett had managed to pull him almost out of his seat. Kaelin grunted and heaved Jett back towards him, and Jett fell forward with a shout.

“Jett? Kaelin? What’s going on?” The boys started at the sound of the teacher’s voice. 

“Nothing at all, sir,” Kaelin smiled, fingers gripping Jett’s upper arm with painful force. The force slowly turned into an excruciating pinch, and Jett fought to keep the pain from showing on his face. “This numbskull just slipped, is all.”

The numskull forced a smile as the teacher turned to him. “Sorry, sir, won’t happen again.”

“Try to keep quiet, okay boys?” Mr Kirkland sighed. They nodded.

Kaelin only released his arm once the teacher had turned away. Rubbing it where he’d been grabbed, Jett cast him a baleful glare; Kaelin glared right back. Jett’s eyes flicked to the top of Kaelin’s head, and once more he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. The grin turned to stifled laughter when he saw the look of disdain on his face. Kaelin continued to glare at him for a moment.Then Jett’s laughter caught, and he found a smile tugging at his mouth. 

 


	13. FrUK new neighbours au

Arthur sighed as he dropped the last box onto the bare floor of his new apartment. It had been a long day.

The room was quite nice - certainly more expensive than his last, and empty apart from the stacks of boxes, but it had a wonderful view. Arthur made his way over to the wide window, sliding the glass to the side and leaning his head out to catch the breeze. He felt himself relax as the fresh air brushed over his face. His room looked out over the city, slowly coming alight as the sun made its way past the horizon. Arthur stood and watched the lights flicker on for a moment, then turned to survey the room.

He really should start unpacking.

 

Waking early the next day, Arthur readied himself for the introduction to his new neighbours. He had baked a batch of scones before bed the night before, and brought them with him as he exited the apartment. Arthur’s rooms were at the very end of the third floor hall, so he headed left, deciding he would start at the other end and work his way back towards his new home. 

The first two doors he came to, there was no response. They must have been out. 

The second door was home to an old lady, who was hard of hearing. He had to shout his greeting to her. She looked down her nose at his scones, and had him come inside for a cup of tea and ‘some real food’. They managed to find her hearing aid before he left. 

The third door held a family of five, rushing to get to school and work. The harried looking father accepted the scones with a grateful smile, welcomed him to the building, and dodged a flying shoe in the same breath. Arthur returned the footwear and moved on, rubbing his cheek.

Finally, there was only one door left. 

Clearing his throat, he knocked twice, nice and hard. After some time, there was a muffled curse and the sound of stumbling feet. There was a slight pause before the door swung open, and Arthur moved back.

Standing there was a man not much older than himself, hair pulled back into a ponytail, dressed in a robe that was slipping dangerously close to the sharp plains of his bare shoulder. He was unshaven, shamelessly attractive, and despite his blood-shot eyes, already giving Arthur the once-over.

“Well  _hello_  there. How can I help you?” the man purred, leaning an arm against the door frame. There was a hint of an accent to his voice.

Arthur’s throat tightened, and he cleared it once more. “My name is Arthur Kirkland. I’m your new neighbour, and I thought I’d introduce myself,” he said, the rehearsed words feeling stiff even as he spoke them.

“Ah.” The man’s eyes lit up, and he seemed a little more awake as he extended a hand. “I’m Francis, Francis Bonnefoy. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Arthur.”

“Likewise.” Arthur went to shake the proffered limb, but realised he was still holding the tray of leftover scones. “Um…” he gestured with the tray. “Would you like some?”

“What’s this?” Francis licked his lip, a small flick of the tongue that made Arthur think of things he really should not be thinking over a man he’d just met. “A face like that,  _and_  a good cook?” He smiled into Arthur’s eyes, reaching out and grabbing a cake. 

Arthur forced himself not to shiver.

Tearing the scone in half and popping one in his mouth, Francis’ expression changed. It went from playfulness, to shock, to repulsion in a matter of seconds, and Arthur watched with concern as he forced himself to chew the rest of his mouthful.

“Are you okay?” he asked, unsure of whether to put the tray down and check. “Did you get some stuck in your throat?” Swallowing with a shudder, Francis gripped the wall. Arthur leaned forward. “Francis?”

“Disgusting.”

Arthur blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Francis glared up at him from his slumped position against the door frame. “Disgusting,” he repeated. “Were you trying to poison the building? Or just me? Because the-” he gagged, cutting off mid-sentence. “Dieu, I think I can still taste it.”

Arthur’s feelings were catching up to the situation. The pleasant glow changed to a simmering anger, and he gripped the tray tight in his hands. 

It was one thing to insult a man. It was another entirely to insult his cooking.

“My apologies,” he smiled, and Francis narrowed his eyes, sensing the change in atmosphere. “I was not aware I was to be feeding a frog, or I might have brought some flies. Perhaps next time I shall.”

Francis gasped with indignation, straightening to reply, but Arthur had already turned and made his way to the door of his own apartment, a mere five meters away. Unlocking the door with the tray balanced on his hip, he stopped and turned back.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” he said sweetly, before closing the door behind him.

In the privacy of his own home, the smile dropped, and Arthur glared down at the tray. 

They looked fine. They weren’t even that black. Nobody else had complained. 

Deciding there must have been something wrong with the dishevelled man’s taste buds, Arthur stalked into the kitchen and placed the tray on the bench, picking out a scone. He frowned at it. It seemed fine up close as well. Giving it an experimental sniff, he found nothing wrong with the smell. 

He took a cautious bite.

“Oh good God no.”

 


	14. FrUK fake dating au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for language and mentions of stalking

Arthur smiled at Francis, thumb stroking the back of his hand where they were joined across the table. Francis intertwined their fingers and raised them to his lips. They gazed longingly into each other’s eyes.

“I cannot fucking believe this,” Arthur muttered, smile not shifting as he spoke.

Francis lowered their hands and smiled back. “Arthur, it’s not for much longer. Please just play along.”

A waiter approached, and they made a show of letting go. Arthur shifted his hands to his lap, where the table blocked them from Francis’ view as he scrubbed at the places they had been touching. His heart was beating fast from the contact, and he struggled against allowing the flush he could feel under his collar to rise to his cheeks. Thank god Francis didn’t know the reactions he gave Arthur.

He stayed silent, allowing Francis to order for them, and looked out onto the street. They were seated just outside the cafe, at a small, two person table with a clear view of the scenery. More importantly, they were easily visible.

That was the point, Arthur had to keep reminding himself. They had to be visible about this. 

Arthur was determined to do his part, and do it well. Not only because Francis had promised him payment, but also because he couldn’t stand the thought of this stalker continuing to pursue him. If all it took to keep the creep away from Francis was one fake date, then Arthur would oblige. 

But still… 

“You’re sure this will work?” Arthur asked, once the waiter had left. 

Francis stirred his drink and chuckled. “Mon cher, that has to be the sixth time you’ve asked me that question.”

“It just seems a bit too easy,” Arthur said, reaching for a napkin. A few drops of tea splattered the table when Francis replaced the spoon on the saucer, and Arthur mopped them up. Francis grunted in thanks.

“Easy is a relative word. What if I hadn’t had someone to prove the relationship?”

Arthur laughed at that. “Please, you could have asked any woman - or man - off the street, and they would have agreed.”

“Is that so?” Francis eyed him, speculative.

Realising what he had said, Arthur hurried to correct himself, stumbling over the words. “No, I mean, it’s not like you could, I mean, you’re not that attractive really, it’s more that…” Francis was smiling at him over the lip of his cup, a genuine smile, and Arthur gave up. “Shut it,” he muttered, retreating behind his own mug.

“Regardless,” Francis said, moving his tea out of the way as the waiter returned with their lunch, “I would much prefer you.”

Arthur ignored the soaring feeling in his chest and tried not to examine that comment too closely. Francis flirted like breathing. Instead, he turned his attention to his plate, thanking the waiter.

There were poached eggs resting in a bed of wilted baby spinach, and toasted English muffins on the side. It was all food he loved, and he dug in with gusto. He moaned and closed his eyes in bliss, relishing the flavour. He finished the food in record time, mopping up the last of the yolk with a bit of muffin and popping it into his mouth.

Francis had been watching him with half-lidded eyes, and now he was done, grinned. “I should take you out more often. That was almost erotic.”

Arthur knew he couldn’t stop the flush this time, and kicked him under the table, smiling sweetly. “So kind of you to say, darling.”

Francis winced, and captured one of Arthur’s hands again, pulling it towards him. Arthur resisted the urge to yank away, conscious that the stalker was watching from somewhere nearby.

“I mean it,” Francis said, gentle as he wrapped his hands over Arthur’s. “Let’s go out again.”

Arthur’s heart sped up. 

But no, this was just another one of his tricks. 

He laughed. “What, are you planning on having another stalker sometime soon?”

Francis frowned. “Must I? Is that really what it would take? You don’t hate me, or you wouldn’t be here today.”

“You’re paying me,” Arthur reminded him. He shifted forward in his seat, uncomfortable with his arm stretched so far across the table. 

“With food,” Francis smiled, eyes sparkling. “Specifically, food I make you. You were very clear about that.”

“That-”

“I like you.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. 

“You don’t hate me,” Francis repeated. “I know you don’t.” He sounded more as if he was trying to convince himself than anything else.

Arthur barely heard him. He was frozen in place, heart racing, as he processed Francis’ words. Francis watched him, his face unreadable as he held Arthur’s hand.

Arthur blinked.

Francis liked him?

He looked up and started. Francis’ face was less than an inch away. 

Their eyes met, and held. There was something there, in Francis’s gaze, something intense and raw that made Arthur glad he was sitting down. He swallowed. 

Francis liked him.

“Okay,” Arthur whispered. He wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to - the date, that fact that he liked him, or something else. He just agreed.

It was Francis’ turn to blink, and then he was closing the gap between them, eyelashes lowering, and lips parting.

There was a cough.  They both jumped, and Arthur snatched his hand back as he leaned away. The waiter was standing next to the table with a polite smile.

“I’ve come to collect your dishes.”

“Ah, yes, of course, our apologies” Francis babbled. Arthur was glad to see that whatever had just happened had affected him too, because he knew he would not be able to stand for some time. 

The waiter collected their empty plates and mugs and left, casting a glare back at Arthur. Once his mind had cleared further and this registered, Arthur’s head snapped up, and he cast around frantically, looking for the man, but he had already disappeared back inside the store.

“Francis…I think that was him.”

“Hm?” Francis looked up from his lap, where he had taken a sudden interest in the fabric of his trousers. “What was - oh!” He turned in his seat, looking towards the store. Then he laughed. 

Arthur glared at him. “What’s so funny? That could have been your stalker! He served us food!”

“No, no I know, I’m sorry, just,” he laughed again, “just, we came here pretending, and then he - right as we - oh god!” he dissolved into fits of chuckling.

Arthur stared. “You are insane.”

“Of course, I’d have to be.” Francis wiped a tear from his eye and sat up straighter. “I fell for you, after all.”

And there was that heat again, just as Arthur had managed to stop thinking about it. He glanced away from Francis’ dancing smile.

“Shut it.” He wished he could find the right words. 

It didn’t seem to matter, as Francis only leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss against his cheek.

 


	15. Dennor meeting in prison au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the start of Cold Fire. I liked the request, and decided to turn it into a proper fic when people asked, but here I'm uploading the original unedited one-shot version.
> 
> Warnings for language, violence

 “Oi, Densen, cm’ere for a sec!”

Matthias looked up from his tray, and the sludge that passed for food in this place. The cafeteria was crowded, today being one of the days when most inmates were let out around the same time. Despite the usual noise, one of the less annoying prisoners had managed to get his attention from the other side of the hall. There were a few of them there, crowded against the back wall. 

Matthias glanced up to the walkways, but the guards were studiously not paying attention to that particular area of the floor.

He rose from his seat and passed his tray along down the bench, strolling over to the crowd. He didn’t have to push his way through the men. They parted in front of him, some shooting glares, others avoiding his gaze, but none ready to stand their ground. Matthias snorted. Looked like they still hadn’t figured out where he’d got the axe from last time.

“You called?”

“Yeah, check this out.” It was one of the guys that hung around him, went by the name Ralph or something equally stupid. Matthias didn’t usually mind this one, his jokes were a good distraction from the boredom of this place. Right now, however, he was pinning someone against the wall, gesturing for Matthias to step closer.

He did so, reaching out and grabbing a fistful of the newcomer’s hair - and he had to be a newcomer, if the guards weren’t worried - jerking his face up into the light.

He whistled appreciatively. Ice-blue eyes glared at him from under a blond fringe, cool despite the trickle of blood from his nose. 

“What have we got here?” Matthias let his gaze wander lower, travelling over the slim body, and then back up again, to where his captive’s eyes had dropped to sub-zero temperatures.

“New guy, wouldn’t tell us his name,” Ralph supplied. “Wouldn’t even speak. I was asking real polite and everything.”

“So I see.” Matthias grabbed the guy’s chin and twisted his face back and forth, checking for any extra damage. Other than a split lip and bruised cheek, he seemed well enough. They really were being polite. “Well, sweetheart? Cherry pie? Honey?” he asked, forcing the man to look at him again. “My queen?” The frozen eyes narrowed. “Oh, I don’t mind calling you that, actually.”

“Lukas,” the man spat. “You can call me Lukas.” His voice was low, almost soft, and lilting - and no less deadly for it.

This one was beaten, but he wasn’t broken.

Matthias liked that. He grinned. “Uh-uh, too late, I think I like ‘queen’ better.” He released Lukas’ chin and slung his arm over the man’s shoulders. “You and me, we’re gonna be pals, yeah?” Ignoring the nails digging into his side, he spun around to face the crowd. “Me and queenie here are buddies now, got that?”

There was a muttering of assent, some disappointed looks, and then they started to disperse. Ralph gave him an amused glance.

“What?”

“Nah, it’s just, I knew you’d like this one.” He waved and headed back to the table.

Matthias grinned again at Lukas, who was now quietly seething in his arms. His face promised murder, and it sent a shiver of excitement down Matthias’ back.

“I’m Matthias Densen, but most people call me Den,” he introduced himself, keeping a firm grip on the other’s shoulder as he steered him towards a nearby table. The occupants either shuffled along to make room or relocated entirely.

“Do I look like I fucking care?” Lukas glowered. “Get your hands off me.”

“Alright,” Matthias complied, holding his arms up with an easy smile. “But don’t think about leaving, queenie. The only thing stopping you from becoming the next big toy around here is me right now. And trust me,” he sat, and patted the space next to him on the bench. “You don’t want that.”

There was something akin to contempt in Lukas’ face, in the curl of his lip, and it made Matthias’ veins hum with energy. Perhaps he could take care of himself. Perhaps not. But he wasn’t stupid, and they both knew it was better not to take chances, so Matthias wasn’t surprised at all when Lukas finally took a seat.

“Right then, glad that’s settled.”

Lukas eyed him as he stole a couple of rolls from the tray’s the previous occupants of the table had left behind.

“Why?”

At first, Matthias didn’t know what he was talking about. Once it clicked, however, he quirked a half-smile, biting into the bread and chucking the other roll to Lukas, who caught it easily. “No reason.”

Lukas raised an eyebrow, tearing his roll in half. 

“You look like fun.” Matthias said.  _And danger_ , he thought, but he kept that to himself. 

Lukas shook his head. “And you look like an idiot.” He bit into his own bread, and his eyebrows twitched together in a slight frown.

Matthias laughed.


	16. USOz partners in crime au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Yeh.  
> Jett is Oz.  
> Warnings for language, pda

Alfred leaned casually against the side of a building, hands in his pockets. The woman he’d approached was flustered, flushed and tugging at the sleeves of her dress, handbag slung over her arm. The gold watch on her wrist caught the glare of the sun. They’d been chatting for a while now, and his easy smile had drawn a hesitant giggle from her mouth. 

Jett watched from across the street, squinting as the reflected light of the watch hit his eyes. It wouldn’t be long now. 

Alfred leaned in towards her, reaching out. His hand hesitated for just a second beside her cheek, before he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

And that was it, she was gone. Jett moved, making his way towards them as she blushed a deeper shade of red, fluttering her eyelashes. Alfred glanced over her shoulder, making eye contact, and Jett nodded. 

Alfred smiled down at the woman. “I really have to thank you, you know.”

“What for?” she gazed up at him, her eyelashes not so much fluttering anymore as having a miniature seizure. 

“Well,” he leaned in even further, lips brushing her ear as he murmured, and Jett was there now. Their eyes locked, and Alfred grinned at him. “You do have such a lovely bag.”

Jett snorted at his antics, snatching the handbag off her arm and sprinting past. He ignored the shout behind him, knowing Alfred would use the time she was distracted by the snatch to get away, and also knowing he had to keep moving. It was broad daylight, and they were in one of the heavily policed tourist traps of New York. He didn’t know what had possessed Alfred to want to go after this lady, but it was a dangerous game he was playing. 

Spotting a hidden alley up ahead, he rounded the corner and immediately slowed to a walking pace, tucking the bag under his arm and steadying his breathing. Coming out the other side, he blended into the crowd, easily merging with the press of bodies. Nobody spared him a glance. 

He was safe.

A hand slipped into his back pocket and squeezed his ass, and Jett did not squeak, no he did not, that sound did not come from him. Gazing straight ahead, he elbowed the air at his side and was met with a winded chuckle. 

“That was stupid, even for you,” Jett muttered.

Alfred pressed a kiss to his cheek, hand not moving from its position in his pants. “Even for _us_ , you mean. We’re a team, babe.”

Jett didn’t reply, just passed him the handbag. 

“Babe?” Alfred was looking at him now. “Jett? What’s up?”

Jett sighed, then gave him a smile. “Nothing. Let’s go home?”

Alfred studied his face. “Was it the chick?”

Jett felt his nose crinkle, just a bit.

“It was! You’re jealous?”

“Piss off.”

Alfred looked at the bag, looked at him, then chucked it away. It landed in front of a homeless man, and Alfred waved to him as he pulled Jett tight to his side, ignoring his struggles.

“Keep the change,” Alfred called.

“What are you doing? We worked for that!”

“I’m sorry,” Alfred said, kissing his neck. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t talking about the bag, Jett knew. He stopped trying to pull Alfred’s arms away, and instead leaned back against his broad chest. 

“Will you stop it? People are looking.” It wasn’t exactly the best idea to be attracting attention right after robbing someone.

“Don’t care,” Alfred murmured against his skin. He pulled away, turning Jett around in his arms. Alfred bit his lip, looking down at him. “Shit.”

“Al?”

“You being jealous,” he said. “That’s … that’s really hot.”

Jett shivered as he met Alfred’s darkened eyes. For a moment longer, they stood there, before a wolf-whistle broke them out of their daze. Jett flipped the guy off.

Alfred seemed to come to a decision. “Home,” he said, taking Jett’s hand and leading him down the street. “Now.”

A thrill travelled over Jett’s skin, and he laughed. “Yes sir, Captain!”

 


	17. FrUK song and a ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request for FrUK with this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQoFLrZ5C3M

It was a day for memories.

Alfred was the one with the ready smile, the easy to please nature, the simple charm. He made adults swoon with his cheerful grin and had children follow as he preached of justice with a toy sword held high. He was the natural leader, the happy-go-lucky child who always seemed to get his way.

Matthew was the one who stood back in the rush for the birthday cake, the one to share his toys, and the one who took longer to fall to sleep at night. He was the one who would comfort his brother when he had a nightmare, but would rarely ask the same in return. He kept to himself, and kept Alfred out of trouble. 

Francis smiled softly into the mirror as he tightened his tie. They were such opposites, the two, but so similar.

Alfred would never admit to being afraid, for fear it would make him less of a hero. Matthew wouldn’t admit it for fear of being seen as less than his brother. Alfred would swallow his tears if he had someone to protect, and Matthew would keep them locked inside if he thought they would hurt someone else. Both children had such strong opinions on the world already, they often found themselves in fights. With each other. With the children at school. And always they would come home to their parents, covered in scratches. 

Arthur chuckled as he recalled one day in particular. The two boys never ceased to amaze him. 

Alfred had been teased for his glasses so badly he had cried, and his brother had flown into a rage. Apparently, the other boy had been so surprised he’d simply stood there in shock as the diminutive and soft spoken Matthew wrestled his bully to the ground. When Arthur had been called in later that day, he’d found a very protective Matthew and a slightly awed Alfred waiting for him. Matthew had sulked until Alfred relented and began to treat him like normal again.

Alfred sniffed, tugging a sock up to his knee. His fathers looked over to where he was seated on the bed, and their chest’s tightened at the sight. 

“Well,” Arthur said, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “Time to go.”

 

The graveyard was nearly empty, only one other person visible far in the distance. Alfred ran through the neat rows of headstones, arms out in an imitation of an airplane. His parents followed at a more sedate pace, arms linked and hearts heavy. It was a sunny day, and a slight breeze blew through the leaves of the trees spotted here and there around the grounds. Francis tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and sighed. Arthur leaned his head onto the other man’s shoulder, pulling their arms tighter together. 

It was not a long journey.

They stopped in a secluded corner, a small area shaded by one of the more unpretentious trees. The young leaves let sunlight filter through to dance over the small grave. Wildflowers had popped up around the headstone since their last visit, nearly half a year ago. 

Alfred did one last zooming lap around them, then skidded to a halt in front of the grave, letting his arms fall.

“Hey Mattie,” he said, cheerful. He pulled a tiny, crushed flower out of his pocket and held it up proudly. “I found this on the way, so I thought you could have it.” 

There was silence but for the rustle of leaves as he stepped forward, crouching to place the offering on the grass. Arthur closed his eyes, Francis’ grip on his arm becoming painful. He said nothing as he opened them again, simply running his thumb over the back of his partner’s hand.

 Alfred’s smile slipped as he spoke again.

“I miss you.”

 


	18. OzNZ song and a ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song and ship request for American Authors 'Best day of my life' (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y66j_BUCBMY)

Jett scrambled up the steel scaffolding, finding easy purchase on the slippery metal. Kaelin clambered beside him, having more trouble, but reluctant to let Jett get too far ahead. The chatter of the crowds swelled beneath them, groups of families and friends, unaware of their activity, caught in the building excitement of the evening. Head breaching the top of the building, Jett pulled himself over the edge and rolled onto his back. Kaelin joined him not a moment later, and they lay there, panting with exertion, as they gazed into the darkened city sky.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Jett almost didn’t catch Kaelin’s mutter. He chuckled, not bothering to reply. They continued to lay like that as they caught their breath, backs warmed by the hard roof tiles beneath them even as the tips of their fingers cooled in the night air. Sitting up, Jett peered out over the edge, looking down into the crowd below, clustered along the edge of the riverbank, pouring out of pubs and spilling onto balconies lining the water. Music drifted on the slight wind, bringing snatches of the different stages, a phantom mix of rock, pop and acoustic. The bridge was lit up, a giant LCD screen affixed to the side, the brightest thing but for the opera house, which seemed to float on the water. The greasy smell of fish and chips met his nose, a must have festival food. Too late, Jett realised he hadn’t brought any supplies to their vantage point.

Kaelin rolled onto his stomach. “How much longer?”

“Um…” Jett checked his phone. “Five minutes.”

“Are you kidding?” Kaelin knocked his head against the rough tiles. “Someone is going to find us. We are going to be arrested.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“We are going to be arrested,” Kaelin continued, “and I am going to say you kidnapped me.”

Jett laughed outright at that. “Oh yeah, you’re so easy to kidnap, you.”

He winced as he received a hard punch on the shoulder. 

“Of course,” Kaelin deadpanned. “I am a maiden.”

“Maiden’s don’t beat the shit out of mates,” Jett grumbled, rubbing the rapidly bruising patch of skin.

They fell into silence for a few minutes, Kaelin sitting up and leaning against Jett. He suffered another bruise when his arm snaked around Kaelin’s waist, but neither of them moved away. The chatter below slowly built, louder and louder. The excitement began to affect Jett, and he squirmed. He was unaccustomed to sitting still for such a length of time, but he didn’t want to move either. It wasn’t everyday he got to have his grumpy friend’s head on his shoulder. 

All at once, the different drifting tunes of music changed. Kaelin sat forward, eager, his eyes bright. The screen on the bridge flashed, and the first number showed.

“Ten!” yelled the crowd below. 

“Nine!” This time Jett joined in, scooting closer to the edge of the building now he was free to move. 

“Eight!” Kaelin added his voice to the clamour.

“Seven! Six!” The wind picked up, and they raised their voices further to be heard.

“Five!”

“Four!” Kaelin laughed.

Jett’s chest swelled, a crazy grin dancing across his features. “Three!”

“Two!” Kaelin pulled him back from the edge, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

“ONE!”

Jett’s eyes bulged as Kaelin pressed their lips together. Fireworks exploded overhead as the crowd cheered. 

“ _Happy new year!_ ”

 

 

**Bonus:**

“One more?” Jett asked, as Kaelin broke away. 

Kaelin smiled at him, and moved closer again. Jett’s heart pounded, and he leaned forward, eye’s closed.

He yelped as he was hit for the third time that evening. 

 


	19. USUK/OzUS song and a ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two requests for the same song combined into one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_fUBQOCTCQ
> 
> Jett is Oz

Jett squeezed through the crowded room, pushing past the other nations. They milled around at the end of the conference, talking and discussing things in small groups. He spotted Alfred’s tell-tale blond hair with ease and waved, jumping to get his attention.

“Alfred!” he called, grinning like an idiot as his chest swelled. “Where have you been, I was…looking for you.” The joy faded to resignation when Jett saw who Alfred was talking to.

It was always Arthur. No matter where. No matter when. There was a familiar stirring in his belly, a cold, bitter emotion that he stamped down on with as much force as he could muster. Plastering the smile back on his face, he approached the two; they had turned at his call, there was no way he could back out now.

Alfred near blinded him with the beam on his face. “Dude, Artie was just telling-”

“Arthur,” the man sighed.

“Arthur,” he stuck his tongue out, “was just telling me how you two have this competition with your grasshopper-”

“ _Cricket_ ,” they corrected him in unison, both exasperated.

“Fine, cricket then!” Alfred shook his head. “Anyway, I wanna come to the next ash whatever!”

Jett glanced at him in surprise. He’d never shown any interest when he’d invited him before. He noticed the way Alfred’s blue eyes held Arthur’s as he spoke, and his stomach twisted. Of course. It wasn’t the cricket he was interested in.

The smile a bit more forced now, Jett reached out, wrapping an arm around Alfred’s neck and pulling him down to his side.

“You gotta come and cheer for me in that case,” he laughed as Alfred stumbled, “no point in backing the losers!”

Arthur glared at him. “Don’t think you’ll have it so easy next time, lad. That was a one-off.”

“I sure hope so,” Jett grinned for real now, the old rivalry calming him somewhat. “Five to nothing is a bit too much, don’t you think? We’d like a bit more of a challenge.”

That hit a nerve. Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Keep crowing while you can. You’ll be eating your words soon enough.”

Alfred, who had been watching from under Jett’s arm with confusion, interrupted. “Wait, I thought England invented cricket?”

Jett choked, trying not to laugh as a furious blush found its way to Arthur’s cheeks.

“It was a bad year, okay?” Arthur’s glare switched focus as Alfred smirked. “Regardless, the next test isn’t till July, so may we please talk about something more relevant?”

Jett snorted at the forced change of subject, but listened as Arthur scolded Alfred for taking an ‘ice-cream break’ during the meeting. Alfred winced at the reprimands, but there was a small smile playing around his lips.  Arthur’s words never seemed to have any real force to them.

Jett stood silently to the side, letting them have their time. The pull in his gut made him want to run away, but he stood there and smiled, because that was what he should do. Because he was indebted to Arthur for making him a country in the eyes of the world. Because it was, more than anything, what Alfred wanted.

“Cher, might I have a moment of your time?” Francis’ wry tones interrupted Arthur before he could start on the rest of Alfred’s misdemeanours. He stood behind them, a bursting file in his hands. A brief surge of relief overcame Jett before he could quash the feeling.

“Yes, the deal, right,” Arthur stepped back, instantly switching to business mode. “I think customs needs to be more aware of the situation, don’t you?” He waved goodbye to Alfred and Jett as he led Francis over to a nearby table.

Alfred watched them go, a mix of emotions playing across his face.

Jett bit back a sigh.

“You really are obvious, you know that right?”

“Shut it,” Alfred kept his eyes fixed on the two. His gaze didn’t waver.

The cold feeling threatened to overwhelm Jett. He hated that Alfred was so painfully oblivious. He hated that Arthur was just as bad. He hated himself for hating them.

He clenched his hands into fists and shoved them into his pockets, leaning forward. “I could help you out.”

Alfred’s gaze flicked to him, but his voice was cautious. “How do you mean?”

“I could help you get his attention.”

And, wow, he hated the way that single sentence made Alfred’s whole face light up, when Jett spent every moment they were together trying to coax that expression out of him. He hated that all he had to do was mention Arthur. More than anything, he hated that it still managed to set his heart racing, even though it was meant for someone else.

“Seriously dude? You would do that?”

Jett’s stomach twisted as he forced a smile on his face. “’Course! What are mates for?”

“You,” Alfred said, slinging an arm over his shoulder and beaming at him, “are my favourite person.”

“Tell that to him, brainless,” Jett said, ignoring the numb ache in his chest.

 


	20. Spamano canonverse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, um, I found this in my drafts and I have no idea what it was for, but I think it might have been a song and a ship request. It's a lil less fluffy.  
> Again, I haven't edited these and I wrote them all in about an hour so please have mercy

“Lovi,” Antonio’s voice was soft from the doorway. His arms hung limp at his sides, bandages peeking out from the sleeves of his shirt. Lovino’s throat closed to see that.

He didn’t stop packing.

“What? Come to see me off? Beg me to stay?” 

Antonio’s face twisted briefly at the harsh tone. The expression was wiped clear as soon as it appeared, and he was smiling again. 

“I can’t ask you to stay, but I thought maybe I could help you pack,” he said, casting a glance around the room, where various clothes and effects were strewn, haphazard. “After all, I won’t see you again.”

Lovino’s hands stilled. 

“At least, not for a while.” Antonio didn’t make a move to enter, just stood in the doorway, that small, sad smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “You’re going back to your brother,” he said. “I can’t be hanging around all the time.”

His fingers twitched, and Lovino forced his hands to move again. “Damn right you can’t.” 

He shoved a pair of trousers into the bag with a bit more force than necessary and fumbled with the buckle. His fingers weren’t working. He couldn’t get a proper grip. Cursing, he gave up and slung it over his shoulder, not caring that it hung open.

Antonio was silent, but his eyes didn’t leave Lovino’s face. Emotions he couldn’t name swam there, and Lovino found himself looking away. 

“Well,” he managed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Well,” Antonio repeated, voice soft.

There was an awkward pause. Making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, Lovino moved to push past Antonio, before he found himself enveloped in a familiar embrace. Arms pinned to his sides by hard muscle, Lovino squawked, struggling to get away.

“Lovi.”

He went still, hands bunched into fists. His heart thudded in his chest, and he knew Antonio could feel it. Neither of them said anything. Eventually, Lovino’s breathing began to slow. Feeling him relax, Antonio loosened his arms and turned to press his face to Lovino’s hair, breathing in. 

“Lovi,” he murmured again, lips moving against Lovino’s head. Suppressing a shiver, Lovino swallowed. They stood like that, silent but for the sound of breathing, for a few minutes more. Uncertain what to do, Lovino began to raise his hands when Antonio pulled back. He held him by the shoulders for a second, face tight, then smiled and stepped out of the way.

“You’d better get going,” he said, gesturing for Lovino to move past him. “You wouldn’t want to be late.”

Lovino opened his mouth, hands still half-raised, then shut it and nodded, face closed. He readjusted his bag and shoved past Antonio, heading off down the open hallway without a second glance.

“Lovino,” Antonio called from behind him, something urgent in his voice. Lovino paused. He heard Antonio take a few steps forwards, then nothing, and waited. 

“Goodbye.”

Lovino’s throat tightened, and he tipped his head back to look at the sky. Closing his eyes, he resumed his walk down the hall without looking back, steps unfaltering.

 

“Welcome back.”

Greeted with open arms and a warm smile, Lovino was pulled into a hug the second he walked into the door. Going stiff, he allowed his brother to fuss over him for a few minutes before he couldn’t take it anymore. Making some excuse, he ignored the hurt that flashed across Feliciano’s face and retreated to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him, and turned to see everything the same as he’d left it, not a thing out of place. Fresh air wafted in through the window, heady and filled with the scents of good food and night air. 

Nothing had changed. Nothing was different.

Except for him.

Lovino slumped to the floor and cried.

He cried for hours. His chest was wracked with sobs, his throat tight and sore, and he pounded on the wooden floor with his fists. He cried everything he had and everything he was. He cried, and once he was done, he picked himself up, dusted himself off, and walked back down the stairs, limping and head held high.

He was re-unified. 


	21. UsUK roommates au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus pottertalia cause I was feeling it

“Arthur, will you put the book down and just- _hey_ , watch it Peeves!” Alfred dodged the bucket of slugs with a yelp, casting a startled glare up at the cackling poltergeist. Arthur didn’t look up from the heavy tome he was carrying, jumping over a missing step and continuing down the staircase, heedless of Alfred’s muttered curses behind him.

“Stupid ghost. If McGonagall hadn’t taken my wand he wouldn’t even be-”

“You got what you deserved,” Arthur commented, waving his own wand with an absent flick, ignoring the startled yelps from the first years they passed as un-tucked shirts righted themselves and messy ties became neat. 

Alfred winced as an invisible hand went to work on his robes as well, resisting the urge to bat at nothing. “Arthur,” he whined as his hair was tugged into some semblance of order. “Stop it. I’m fine.”

“You are not.” They stopped in front of the open doorway to the common room, waiting for the younger students to usher in before them. Alfred was relieved, as he’d already forgotten this week’s password. “I am a prefect, and you are captain of the quidditch team. I’ll not have you running about looking like a slob.”

Alfred sighed. It was the same argument they’d had a million times before. As always, he zoned out for the better part of Arthur’s speech, preferring to greet other students as they hurried past, all knowing what would happen to them if they caught Arthur’s eye. Eventually only the last stragglers remained, making their sluggish way down from the great hall. Alfred pushed off the brick, Arthur’s tirade having died down a while ago. 

“Where are you going?” Arthur glanced up from where he was once more absorbed in his book. “There are still some yet to come.”

Alfred shrugged, giving a wide yawn. “It’s late. I’m tired. And also,” he stepped closer, covering the page Arthur was reading and forcing him to look up at Alfred. “There is no rule that says you,” or me, he added in his head, “have to do this.”

Arthur raised an impressive eyebrow, brushing Alfred’s hand away. “And? It’s tradition.”

Alfred groaned in frustration. “Yeah well, tradition can suck my ass. I want to sleep. And I want to sleep with you.”

“Al-” Arthur sputtered, almost dropping his book. Alfred laughed a little, finding the way his cheeks flushed red adorable. Arthur lowered his voice, glancing around them to see if anyone had heard before glaring up at Alfred. “If you don’t keep quiet I swear to god I will hang you from the headmistresses chair by your socks,” he hissed.

Alfred balked. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’d leave you there, too.”

Pale, Alfred considered the threat. Still… 

“It’d be worth it,” he muttered, shuddering as he thought of all the hours of detention he’d have to do to make up for the stunt. Alfred glanced up to say something else, but he found Arthur staring at him, cheeks even redder than before, and whatever he’d been about to say left his mind.

They stood like that, gazes locked. Alfred’s heart beat a bit louder in his ears as he lifted his arm, hesitating only a little before resting his hand on Arthur’s. He didn’t miss the way Arthur’s eyes flickered just a bit wider as his fingers slipped inside the sleeve of his robe, nor the way his pulse jumped when Alfred traced over his wrist. 

“I-”

“It looks like everyone’s inside,” Arthur interrupted, breaking his gaze and ducking out from under Alfred’s arm, ears pink. “We should,” he bit his lip, looking at the floor, then continued. “We should head to bed as well.”

Without another word, Arthur spun and disappeared inside the common room, the green light from the lamps hiding his blush. Alfred stood in the hall for a moment longer before snapping out of his daze, shaking his head and rushing after him with a grin.

If there was one thing he liked about tradition, it would have to be that a prefect could have a double room instead of the normal five, if they wanted it. It was much easier when they didn’t have to explain waking up in the other’s bed in the morning.


	22. Ameripan falling in love with your best friend's partner au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just what it sounds like. One-sided ameripan. Incidental asakiku.

“Alfred, Kiku, would you please come outside?” Arthur’s voice floated down the stairs, and his body followed soon after, looking smart and collected as always. “You’ve been down here for hours now.”

Alfred hardly spared him a glance, focusing back on the screen, already behind Kiku’s tiny super car from just that momentary distraction. “Yeah, sure whatever, just- fuck!” Alfred tilted his body to the side as he twisted the controller, but it was too late. His bright red charger spun out of control, crashing into the fence and setting the controller into vibrate as it burst into flames. “Fucking shit!”

“Language,” Arthur scolded him, frowning at Kiku’s half-smothered laughter.

Alfred groaned and slumped forward. They couldn’t play fighting games, because Alfred would always win them. They couldn’t play dating games, because Kiku was unbeatable in those. And now it seemed the only chance they had at an even playing field was ruined.

“Why don’t you just join us?” Alfred groused, casting a bleary-eyed glare up at Arthur as he fumbled in the dark for his glasses.

“You should,” Kiku smiled, leaning over and reaching behind Alfred for something. Alfred went very still, the smell of Kiku’s shampoo –apples, this time, he noted - pleasant and fresh over the other scents of fast food and sweat that filled the basement. He lifted a hand to steady Kiku as he sat back, Alfred’s glasses secure in his grip. “I’m sure you would do very well,” he commented, placing the spectacles on Alfred’s nose and moving back. 

“Oh certainly,” Arthur’s sarcastic snort brought Alfred back to reality, and he dropped his hand, finding the pattern in the carpet rather fascinating. “All those. Games. And things.” A grin worked its way onto Alfred’s face at the utter lack of joy in Arthur’s voice. 

“You never know, you could have fun,” Alfred smirked. Arthur had always been hopeless at video games. “I know I’ll never forget the time you drove the whole course backwards.”

Arthur shot him a glare. “Alfred,” he warned.

“What? It takes a lot of skill to do that,” Alfred said, trying and failing to keep the grin from his voice. It would have worked were it not for the way Kiku’s eyes had lit up. 

“You can do that?” The question came out eager, and Kiku stood, letting the bag of chips that had been resting against his leg fall to the ground. 

“Um.” Arthur looked at the ceiling, the floor, the walls, anything but Kiku’s face. “Yes?” It came out a question.

“Once. On accident. Very slowly.” Alfred loved teasing his friend.

Arthur might have needed to be reminded to watch his own language if it hadn’t been for Kiku’s crestfallen expression. Sighing, Arthur pulled him close, pecking him on the cheek. “I’ll try again later, alright love? For now, will you please just come outside and see the sun? I promise it won’t hurt.”

Kiku shook his head, a small smile on his lips, and turned back. “Al?”

Alfred looked up from where he’d been studying the floor again. “Huh? Oh. Nah, you guys go, I wanna get some more practice in.”

Kiku might have said something else, but Arthur only flipped him off from under his arm before taking Kiku’s hand and leading him up the stairs. “You’re going to turn to dust,” he called out, almost at the top. “And I’m not cleaning it up.”

“At least I’ll still be more interesting than you,” Alfred shot back, grinning as Kiku dragged Arthur out the door before he could retaliate. The door closed on Arthur’s cursing, leaving him back in the dark.

Alfred’s smile faded as he sat there, surrounded by the debris of two solid days of gaming. He sighed and leaned back against the bottom of the couch, knocking his head on one of the cushions. The flickering light from the television lit the ceiling in muted blues, and Alfred closed his eyes. If he concentrated hard enough, he could still smell the slightest touch of apples in the stale air.

Alone, it was harder to ignore the ache in his chest.


	23. Prucan song and a ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonverse, request based on this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZYqcpTYQ8I4

“Gil?”

“Go away.”

Canada flinched at the cold tone, his hand dropping to his side. Prussia was hunched in the corner of their bedroom, arms wrapped over his knees. He had his face to the wall, leaving Canada to view the taught muscles of his back with sad eyes.

In some ways, this was an improvement. He wasn’t drinking. He wasn’t lashing out. He wasn’t even crying. Yet somehow, Canada would almost prefer if he did any of those things; if he showed some kind of emotion. The past week had been filled with a hollow silence. Canada was patient, waiting until his lover was ready to open up of his own accord, enduring meals without conversation, mornings without a kiss, and an empty bed at night. But Prussia hadn’t eaten in days now, and enough was enough.

“Gilbert, look at me.”

“Mattie, I swear -”

“Look at me.” Canada injected steel into his voice. 

Prussia tensed for a moment, but grudgingly turned. His eyes were shadowed and hollow, bloodshot and pained. His unshaven cheekbones jutted more prominently than usual. Canada’s heart ached to see him this way.

“What?” Prussia said, curt. His eyes flickered to the side as he spoke, running a hand over his chin.

Canada dropped to his knees and pulled Prussia into his arms. 

“Matt - what - get off!” he fought against him, but Canada held tight. Prussia’s arms were strong, and his fingers gripped Canada’s arms with a surprising force, but still he didn’t let go. Eventually his struggles died out.

They sat like that, held close, for a while. After some time, Canada loosened his grasp and turned so his back rested on the wall. Prussia slumped against him. Together, they gazed at the darkened ceiling in the quiet. Canada allowed his fingers to trace over the bare skin of his lover’s arm, and felt Prussia’s chest lift in a sigh.

“I’m dying Mattie.”

Canada’s fingers stopped moving. “No you’re not.”

Prussia laughed, bitterness leaking into the sound. “I am. Look at me,” he said, gently tugging his arm away from Canada’s touch and holding it up. “Look at this. I’m thin. No matter how much I eat, I’m not putting on weight. I can’t fight like I used to. I can’t run. I can barely keep myself awake half the day,” his voice caught. “Sometimes I think if I let myself sleep, I won’t wake up.” 

Canada swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“I’m scared, Mattie,” Prussia whispered.

“Gil,” Canada said. 

Prussia turned his head, and Canada placed his hands on the man’s cheeks, gentle. He looked directly into his eyes as he spoke.

“You are not dying.” 

Prussia opened his mouth to reply, and Canada silenced him with a kiss. The same fire filled him as always when their lips touched, but there was something different about this. The fire travelled up to fill his eyes, and spilled down over his face. Only when Prussia broke away and pulled Canada’s head down onto his chest did he realize he was crying. Prussia stroked his back, murmuring sweet nothings into his hair. His shoulders shook as the tears fell.

“You’re not dying,” Canada repeated into the fabric of Prussia’s shirt. “I won’t let you.”

 


	24. USUK ghost/human au

“I hate you.”

Arthur’s face twisted, a fierce kind of pain crossing his features in the instant before they smoothed over. There was a moment of silence

“I know,” he said, voice clear of emotion.

His skin was smooth too, Alfred knew. Like a dolls. Soft and pliant under his hands. He hated that his hands itched to reach out, that he ached to wrap his arms around Arthur’s shoulders. He burned with it, so he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall, looking away from Arthur to the window.

Outside it was bright, clear. A rare shining moment in the damp English weather. The grass soaked up the sun, that unearthly, pure green he never saw anywhere else.

“And you?” Alfred asked, not glancing away from the window. He could see Arthur paused in his peripheral vision, like someone had pressed ‘stop’ on the TV.

“Arthur?”

There was a sigh of air, wind ghosting over the open top of a bottle, hollow. “I love you.”

Alfred closed his eyes. He could still see the grass outside on the back of his lids. So familiar.

Arthur’s feet made only the barest scuff of sound on the carpet as he moved. Alfred went stiff as arms circled his waist – soft, doll-like arms – and a gentle weight settled on his shoulder. Something tickled the bottom of his chin, and there was a clear picture in his head of wheat-spun gold, waving against the sky.

He hated that.

Alfred knew if he opened his eyes the illusion would disappear, that it would be hair against him, not wheat, and the green of the grass would stop reminding him of eyes it was better not to look into. But he couldn’t.

And he hated that.

He squeezed his eyes tighter against the world as lips pressed to his collarbone though the fabric of his shirt. His arms, now trapped between them, were a barrier, a wall, and Alfred couldn’t pull it down. Arthur grazed a trail of fire up his neck, along his jaw, stopping just at the corner of his mouth. Alfred’s throat worked without sound, and he couldn’t let it stay that way, he had to stop this.

 

_“I hate you.”_

_Laughter, bright and clear. Eyes shining at him from across the table. Cheeks flushed over a smile that could melt ice-caps. Grass and wheat and pink like roses, nature and the natural, every thought there to be read on his face._

_“I love you too.”_

 

“Alfred?”

He felt the question more than heard it.

“Yeah?” he found his voice, and it was hard, and breaking, and tired. So, so tired.

“Do you miss me?”

His tongue was heavy in his mouth, and his chest was roaring and empty, a gaping hole where it should have been full. Outside he knew it was still warm, sunshine like a bath to the normally grey country. Inside the house, everything was frozen in time, suspended for a moment.

Just a moment.

“Every day.”

Arthur’s breath left him in a satisfied sigh, warm like the sun outside against Alfred’s frozen lips. “Good.”

And then he was gone.

For minutes more, or it could have been hours, Alfred stood there, arms crossed over his chest. It was a knock on the door that broke him out of his daze, sharp and insistent. Slowly, his arms fell apart, and his eyes fell open, and his heart fell out of his chest because the room, Arthur’s room, was empty.

He was gone.

Ignoring the knock as it came again, Alfred slid down the wall, legs no longer supporting him. He stared into nothing where there should have been something, but there wasn’t. There hadn’t been for a long time now. He blinked, and there was the wheat, and the grass, and the roses Arthur was so fond of. He blinked again, and there was the smile, and the laugh, and the _life_. He blinked once more, and there was only a blur as wetness trickled down his cheeks.

At some point he hadn’t noticed, the knocking had stopped, because there was no sound anymore but his hitching breath. And it was wrong, wrong, _wrong_ , and his voice was thick and broken as he tried to fill the silence.

“I hate you.”

_I love you._


	25. USUK request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was, believe it or not, the first fic I ever wrote, for anything, ever. Looking back at it I am dying at how forced it is and all the even more awkward than usual wording I used, but I'm posting it so I remember how much I've improved. Not that I don't have a very very long way to go yet.

Arthur stared at the note in his hands, feeling the seeds of a headache take root in his skull. Closing his eyes, he counted to ten in his mind before opening them again. The words were the same.

_Meet at the baseball field. Bring your glove._

He didn’t have a glove. Why did this person assume he did?

Of course, this was America, the land of baseball. It was different here. God, was it different. The whole place was obnoxious. The constant Virginian heat, or the way everyone was so bleeding touchy-feely. The amount of strange looks he’d been given for ordering a cup of tea at a diner, the way they all drove on the wrong side of the road. How may times he had had to explain his accent, or the fact that he didn’t know the rules to some stupid bloody ball game … Arthur’s eyebrows twitched lower and he balled the note in his fist. 

Unlocking the car and chucking his briefcase onto the passenger seat, Arthur decided he would buy a glove. And a bat to go with it. 

 

 

Alfred waited in the parking lot of the baseball field, sitting on the hood of his old sedan. The pile of burgers next to him had slowly diminished over the past hour, but he found he had lost his appetite after the fourth one. He wasn’t nervous. He was terrified. The butterflies in his stomach weren’t so much fluttering as headbanging to death metal.

He had been dubious about this from the beginning. Sure, he was having trouble meeting people, but a blind date? It was totally the opposite of what a hero would do. Somehow though, he had allowed himself to be pushed into this situation, and now here he sat, waiting for a person he had never so much as seen a picture of. They could be a criminal. They could be crazy. Heck, they could be a serial killer for all he knew. 

Nope, that was it. He couldn’t do this.

The rumble of an engine interrupted his thoughts just as he came to a decision, and Alfred felt his heart leap into his throat. They were here. 

Crap.

Turning his head, he watched with anxious eyes as a sleek new BMW pulled into the parking lot with more speed than was strictly necessary, and came to an abrupt stop beside him. The door opened, and the driver stepped out, dressed in an impeccable suit and, for some reason, toting a brand new baseball bat. The man turned immediately to Alfred with a face that screamed bloody murder, but even as he stormed towards him, all Alfred could do was stare.

The man had the most startling green eyes he had ever seen. They didn’t shine like emeralds, and they weren’t soft like moss. They were nothing so simple. They were green like the first shoots of new life that pushed their way through the snow in spring, and shone with an inner fire. Framing them were pale lashes, messy blond hair and the most incredible eyebrows Alfred had ever seen. He found himself captivated.

Or, he was until he realised their owner had lifted the baseball bat above his head.

“ _Whoa_! Whoa whoa whoa, dude!” Maybe this guy was a serial killer after all. “Time out!”

“Don’t you ‘dude’ me, you tosser!” Thankfully, the man lowered the bat, but he still kept a tight grip on the handle. “Where the bloody hell is my guitar?”

“Guitar?” Alfred asked, hands up. “I don’t know, I-”

He was interrupted from having to finish his answer by Freddy Mercury’s tinny voice. Alfred looked around in confusion until the man pulled a phone from the pocket of his suit. Not breaking eye contact, the man accepted the call, turning it on to speaker.

“Yes?” he answered curtly. He had a British accent. Alfred hadn’t noticed that before.

“Bonjour, my little bundle of joy.” 

“Francis, I’m kind of busy at the moment. Can this wait?” The man tapped the head of the bat against the pavement.

“Ah, but you wish for me to return your guitar, correct?” Alfred watched in fascination as the man’s face went from puzzlement, to understanding, then horror in a matter of seconds.

“It was you” The man had finally left off glaring at Alfred and turned his stare on the phone instead.

“Oui, mon cher. So you had better do as I ask, or you will be getting your beloved Gibson back in pieces.”

“That guitar was signed by Lenon himself! I swear to god Francis, if there is so much as a scratch on it-!”

“Relax, it is a simple thing.” Francis’ voice was amused. “I only wish for you to accompany that man you are no doubt threatening for an evening.” 

At this, Alfred started. So the crazy Englishman  _was_  his date? He didn’t know whether to be pleased or scared.

“That’s what this is about?”  The man seemed taken aback. Alfred felt his heart sink. Of course he would be. “I told you before, I don’t do blind dates!”

“Oh, but you do tonight,” Francis laughed. “Au revoir, my sweet.”

The line went dead. 

 

 

Arthur glowered at the phone in his hand. 

That bloody frog. That absolute wanker. He was going to die.

“Um …” 

He looked up. The boy did not meet his eyes, preferring instead to inspect the ground at his feet.

“You can go, if you want,” he said, still not looking up. The tips of his ears were flushed red, and Arthur found himself softening somewhat.

Taking some time to compose his thoughts, he put the phone back in his pocket and propped the bat carefully against his car. He would need that later. Eventually he turned to address the despondent boy.

“You must be Alfred,” he sighed. The boy’s shoulders twitched with surprise. “That man you heard on the phone? That’s Francis. He’s dating your younger brother … what’s his name again?”

“Mathew,” Alfred answered automatically.

“Right. Anyway, they seem to be determined for us to get together as well, the nitwits. I assume you did not have a part in the kidnapping of my belongings?”

Alfred shook his head. “I had no idea they were planning something like this, I swear. Mattie just told me I would meet someone here.”

Arthur observed him. He did not seem to be lying. Despite being young, Alfred was tall and well-built, but his slumped shoulders made him seem smaller than he was. The boy was obviously uncomfortable.

“Alfred. Look at me, will you?”

He stiffened, then slowly raised his gaze to meet Arthur’s. He had startling blue eyes behind his glasses. Arthur found himself growing warmer under that stare. His chest tightened. 

He cleared his throat. “What kind of date did you have in mind, exactly?”

Alfred’s face lit up, eye’s sparkling even in the dim evening light. Arthur was baffled by the sudden change in the boys demeanor.

“I thought maybe we could play catch!” Alfred offered eagerly. “I’m really good at baseball, y’know.”

Ah. Of course. The glove.

Arthur was hesitant. “I have to warn you, I have no idea how to ‘play’ catch”.

Was catch even a game? Were there rules to throwing a ball back and forth?

Alfred just beamed. “Then I can teach you!” he said, laughter in his voice.

Again Arthur felt his face grow warm and his chest tighten, and found himself agreeing, if only to distract himself from these troublesome feelings.

 

 

Alfred grinned.

“That’s twelve to me!” he proclaimed. Arthur groaned and flipped him off without rising from where he lay on the ground.

The Englishman had seemed to understand the idea of catch well enough when Alfred had explained it to him, but so far he hadn’t managed to put any of that understanding into practice. Every time Alfred wound up to throw, a look of fear came over the man’s face, and he either ducked or braced himself so stiffly that he wound up unbalancing when he actually caught the ball.

“How about one more?” he called out. 

“How about you give me a hand up, you overpowered arse? I’m buggered.”

Alfred ignored the language with good humour, figuring it was just another incomprehensible trait of the British people. He removed his glove and placed both it and the ball carefully on the ground before making his way to Arthur. He lay just out of the beam cast by a floodlight, and Alfred squinted to make out his face as he offered Arthur an arm. An abrupt yank on his hand had him sprawling on the packed earth, glasses knocked askew by the sudden movement. From beside him he heard the sounds of stifled laughter and turned to give Arthur a piece of his mind, but any words died on his lips.

Arthur’s hair was covered in dust, his once impeccable suit now stained with dirt. Sweat dripped languidly down the side of his cheeks, flushed from exercise. His eyes were crinkled, bright with mirth, and his grin trembled as he snorted, trying in vain to stop his laughter from bubbling out. 

He was beautiful.

“Did you have fun?” Alfred asked, once the man had managed to control his sniggering.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “This has to have been the absolute worst date I have ever been on,” he said. Alfred’s face fell. “I’m exhausted, my suit is ruined, and I think I pulled a muscle,” he said, wincing slightly. 

He was swiftly dashing any hope Alfred had had of asking the huffy little gentleman out again, and he felt his chest start to ache. He tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. Arthur must have seen through this however, as he soon continued.

“ _But_ ,” Arthur held up their still fastened hands and intertwined their fingers, “I hope we can do it again.”

Alfred found he couldn’t agree more.


	26. USUK "things you said:"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "things you said when you thought I was asleep" request  
> Warning, Arthur's drunk

“I know,” he’d whispered into the back of Alfred’s neck, words slurred and head lolling. “I know about e-ver-y-thing.”

Alfred tried not to stiffen, tried not to let his hands tighten around Arthur’s thighs as he carried him home, tried not to breathe lest it give him away.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hm,” Arthur’s eyes were glazed as he propped his chin on Alfred’s shoulder, looking somewhere down the street with a smile. “From the beginning.”

Alfred swallowed. He could feel the line of Arthur’s body pressed against his back, could smell the hot, sweat and alcohol stench of a night out, see the loose grip of Arthur’s fingers on his shoulders. 

He didn’t know what to say to that, but it didn’t matter, because Arthur kept going. “Y’know that time in, uh-”

“France?”

“Noooo,” Arthur’s face scrunched up as he drew out the word.

“India?”

“Nuh.”

“Hawaii?”

“Not. . .Hawaii, more big,” one of Arthur’s hands let go of him to wave next to his head, knocking into his glasses.

“Watch it! And hang on tight, or you’re gonna fall.”

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur laughed, letting go with his other hand as well and leaning back. “You’re strong.”

Alfred rolled his eyes and leaned forward so Arthur fell against him again. “Hold on or I’m dropping you here.”

“Vietnam!”

Alfred stopped walking. 

“That time in Vietnam, I remember it,” Arthur sung, wrapping both his arms over Alfred’s neck. “Do you? You should, cause you weren’t drunk, see, and I know you weren’t drunk cause I swapped your beer for some of that r- rice stuff,” he was hiccupping now. 

Alfred found his words again. “Rice wine is alcoholic.”

Arthur frowned. “Really? But-” he hiccupped again, then knocked his head into Alfred’s. “Doesn’t matter. You weren’t drunk. I am! Was. Am?”

“You are.”

“Oh good, I hate thinking when I’m not.”

Beginning to walk again, Alfred readjusted his hold. Arthur’s lips pressed a sloppy kiss to the side of his neck, but he ignored it. There was no more conversation on the way home, only the rush of cars and occasional hiccupping laugh. 

Getting the front door open with a body hanging like a limpet to his back used to be a struggle. Climbing the stairs, too. Getting Arthur into bed. Falling beside him. 

Alfred didn’t know when all of this had become so commonplace. 

Weariness tugged at his eyes, and Alfred drifted in that place between awake and asleep, listening to Arthur shift around beside him. Maybe an hour passed, maybe ten minutes, but then Arthur was leaning over him.

Cupping his face.

Alfred’s heart lurched, and he beat it down, kept his breathing even, kept his body still, kept his eyes closed. Like he always did.

“I love you too,” Arthur said. He never whispered it, or murmured it, as though he was determined to wake Alfred up. 

Alfred said nothing, just breathed, in and out, deep and calm. Listened to the sound of his blood rushing through his veins.

When Arthur finally collapsed on top of him, when his muscles unclenched and he started snoring, Alfred opened his eyes. He let himself run a hand through the coarse strands of Arthur’s short hair, sticky with sweat and who knows what else. 

“Say it when you’re sober.”

Alfred didn’t whisper either.

 


	27. USUK "things you said that I wish you hadn't"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for hospital themes   
> can be taken as omegaverse

Arthur sat, staring numb into the distance. His body was thin, wasting away, skin sallow and pale, cheeks hollow. His eyes were glazed and sunken, ringed with black and purple bruises. The room was silent but for the gentle, harsh, soft, and unbearably loud buzz of the machines. The door clicked shut behind him, and Alfred jumped with the sound, but Arthur didn’t seem to notice. Goosebumps pricked at his skin as Alfred stood just in the doorway. It was cold inside the room, like none of the warmth, the bustle of the halls outside, could penetrate. 

“It hurts.” The whisper was almost like a greeting now.

Alfred’s grip loosed on the jacket he had clutched in his hands. Arthur’s voice was nothing like it used to be. There was no insistence, no emotion, no life. Just breath tripping out over cracked lips with no real purpose but to speak for speaking’s sake, like he couldn’t stand the words being trapped inside his blackened lungs anymore. 

Arthur turned to him then, and his face twitched, like he might have tried to smile and gave up.

Alfred’s heart broke a little more.

Smiling over his chest compressing on empty space, Alfred moved to sit across from Arthur, settling into the hard plastic of the chair without complaint. “It’s a bit cold,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else. Arthur was wrapped in nothing more than a thin slip of fabric, one of the white hospital blankets draped over his legs, but something like surprise registered on his features at the words. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, moving to get up. “I didn’t realise-”

“Artie, no,” Alfred reached out a hand, pressed it to his shoulder, and just with that, that tiny touch, Arthur was back in his seat. Alfred could feel the bones shifting just under Arthur’s skin, and he withdrew his hand slowly, eyes caught on a bruise peeking out from the arm of the gown. Arthur followed his gaze to the yellow-purple-black edges of the thing. 

They sat, looking at it, for long moments.

Sounds from outside, muffled and loud at the same time, registered dully in the background. Feet on linoleum, murmured voices, phones ringing, a child crying, a plate clattering, wheels squeaking, a man’s laugh. Alfred looked away, dropping his eyes to the table between them, where a meal sat, untouched.

“Should I take it away?” Alfred asked. He was past trying to get Arthur to eat when he didn’t want to anymore. 

Arthur shook his head.

The window was closed, in the corner, and maybe that was why it was always so cold in the room. It wasn’t much of a view. A scraggly lawn, some dandelions - Alfred couldn’t bring himself to call them weeds, not when Arthur’s face still eased, just a bit, at the sight of them. There was an old, worn bench in the middle of the lawn, with a plaque in the middle. No one sat on it much.

They sat in silence for an hour or so, before there was a polite knock on the door. Neither of them moved.

“Your jacket,” Arthur said, and he was looking at the wall over Alfred’s shoulder. “Can- may I-”

“Yeah,” Alfred’s voice came out rough, and he cleared his throat. “Yeah, ‘course.”

Standing, he crossed to Arthur, unfolding the jacket as he went. As he settled it over Arthur’s shoulders, he caught the scent of antiseptic and sour sweat, but nothing else. 

Nothing Arthur.

Alfred’s hands tightened a fraction in the leather, and Arthur looked up at him, his eyes large and tired in his face. Alfred wanted to ask why - why couldn’t he smell him anymore, why couldn’t he smell  _anything_  - but his throat was closing, and he didn’t think he could ask anything without breaking, without making this whole situation about him, and he couldn’t do that to Arthur. So he smiled. Arthur’s hands closed over the lapels, tugging the cloth tighter around his body, and Alfred let go.

He was almost to the door when he stopped. Turned back, as if something was compelling him, to see Arthur staring after him, looking lost.

“Artie…?”

Arthur’s mouth opened, and closed, and opened again. Alfred stared at his lips, watched them working to form words, mouthing something.

He watched, and he figured it out.

And he shattered. 

 

_I loved you._

 

Loved.

 


	28. USUK "things you said with no space between us"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, omegaverse  
> fluffy explicit sex
> 
> I say again this chapter has SEX, so be warned

They were in the middle of making love, hot and sweet and intense, Arthur’s hand over the place where they were joined as he watched in fascination how Alfred’s face changed as he pressed there in time with his thrusts, when the words slipped from Arthur’s mouth. 

“Marry me.”

Alfred’s thrusts stuttered and stilled, his face gone blank and mouth hanging open. Arthur watched him for a moment, still panting from exertion, ready to defend himself as it being something said in the heat of the moment, when Alfred laughed. It was a slow, happy sound, starting with his lips curving into a smile and evolving to a point where he was pressed up against Arthur’s front, arms no longer supporting his weight as he shook with it.

Relief flooded him, and Arthur fought off his own smile as he slapped, ineffective, against Alfred’s side. “You’re heavy,” he scolded, not minding.

Alfred chuckled again, bracing himself on his forearms as he pulled back enough that he could smile into Arthur’s eyes. “Why, all of a sudden?” he asked. “We’re already mated.”

“Well,” Arthur shivered as Alfred traced over his shoulder, the still-fresh mating scar a pleasant reminder of the sealing of their bond. Alfred’s laughter was doing things to them where they were connected, distracting things, and it took a moment for Arthur to gather his thoughts. “No reason really.”

“Mm?” Alfred leaned in, mouthed along the line of Arthur’s neck and started moving again, taking his time, languid - lazy, almost. “That so?”

“I just-” Arthur made an aborted noise in the back of his throat as Alfred ground his hips upwards. “ _Oh god_. Matthew was talking about it the other day, in one of his classes and -  _do that again_  - I know it’s old-fashioned but -  _nn_  - it just seemed like a nice idea.”

Beginning to move a bit faster once more, Alfred bit down lightly on Arthur’s jaw, making him moan. “No talking about other men in bed,” he muttered, the way Arthur was digging his nails into Alfred’s hips not seeming to affect him. 

“You asked,” Arthur managed, head tilted back, throat exposed as pleasure washed through him. 

Alfred had no answer for that, bar a particularly hard thrust that caused Arthur to gasp out his name and clutch them tighter together. 

They lost themselves to it, sank into the haze of bliss and only resurfaced to give voice to what they were feeling, to make the other move a certain way, until their climax’s rolled over them in waves that left them straining against each other, lips meeting in a wet, hungry kiss as Alfred’s knot swelled in Arthur.

They lay, breathing hard, for long moments.

“You don’t want to?” Arthur asked, voice wrecked with sex as he traced patterns over the tanned skin of Alfred’s back.

Alfred laughed again, shaking his head where it was buried in the side of Arthur’s neck. “There’s a ring in the pocket of my jeans,” he admitted. Arthur blinked at him, and he elaborated. “Mattie might have mentioned something about it to me as well.”

Arthur’s silence stretched a few seconds more, until Alfred pressed a kiss to his mouth, startling him into a giggle. The giggle morphed into small half-chuckles through his hand, and he relaxed into the pillow, Alfred following him in the movement, brushing his nose along Arthur’s cheek.

“Your jeans? You couldn’t just-”

“Shut up, I didn’t get the chance to ask.”

Arthur paused. “True.”

There was hesitation in Alfred voice, “If you want, I could-”

“Alfred, if you move anywhere with that knot inside me, I swear on all that is holy, I will shove that lamp so far-”

“I’m not moving, I’m not moving!”

He’d tried it once. It had been painful for both of them. Arthur eyed him for a moment more, then returned to stroking Alfred’s back, not even certain when he’d stopped. Alfred sank into him more with every pass of his fingers, and Arthur would have called him on it, but he was tired, and Alfred was warm, and there was that scent everywhere - of bubble-gum, fireworks, fresh-cut grass - so instead he leaned their heads together and looked at his fingers tripping over Alfred’s shoulder blade.

“Does this mean I get to call you my wife now?”

Arthur sighed.

 


	29. rochu "things you said after you kissed me"

Ivan’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he barely noticed the pressure of Yao’s fingers digging into his shirt. Every cell in his body was focused above that, where Yao was kissing him. It was nothing like he’d imagined, but somehow he didn’t mind. 

It was a normal day, a normal meeting. Just the two of them left in the board room, going over details. Ivan had made a stray comment about something - he couldn’t remember what. There had been no soft gazes, no nervous tangling of fingers, no sweet words. Only another argument, Yao’s raised voice, beautiful even in anger, and a sudden, vicious grab across the table.

Yao’s lips were chapped, skin catching and tugging on his own as their mouths meshed together. He wasn’t gentle.  Ivan didn’t know what had changed - why today, of all days, Yao snapped. He hadn’t even had time to close his eyes before their lips were forced together, but Yao’s were squeezed tight, so tight it must be causing black spots on his eyelids. 

Ivan observed this in the back of his head, body stiff and still, eyes wide as he looked into the face of the man he loved. The man he thought hated him. Knew hated him. The man who was currently pushing, moving his lips, catching Ivan’s breath on his teeth. 

And then the kiss turned tender.

And would a man who hated him kiss like that?

Something swelled inside him, light and filling - but just as Ivan managed to respond, Yao’s head snapped back as though he’d been shocked. 

Ivan could only watch as Yao stared at him across the table with something like disbelief on his features, before wiping a hand across his mouth, hard, as though he wanted to erase whatever had just happened between them. 

“Yao-”

“Don’t call me that.”

Stomach sinking, Ivan reached out, but Yao slapped his hand away before he could touch him. 

“Don’t.”

Ivan felt his face crumble, smile slipping. Just for an instant, and then it was back, whatever hope he’d held in those brief moments sealed away. “What is wrong?”

Yao looked at him, direct as always. “Why would something be wrong?”

“You did kiss me,” Ivan pointed out. It was a valid point, he felt.

“Yes.” Ivan watched as Yao’s hand came up, absently brushing over his lips. He wanted to bite them. Then Yao’s face firmed, and he dropped his hand to his side again. “And you shut up. Finally.”

Ivan blinked.

“I couldn’t see your stupid smile either,” Yao muttered, almost to himself, but Ivan heard anyway.

“You think my smile is stupid?”

Yao just shook his head and resumed his seat, pulling a few documents closer. “Just get back to work,” he said.

Ivan stood for a moment more, looking at him. Yao’s face was flat, blank, no hint of anger or anything else left. His hands were sure as he flipped through the pages before him, eyes steady on the paperwork. A strand of hair next to his ear was out of place, a rumple in the curtain of black. Ivan wanted to push it down.

Without looking up, Yao’s hand drifted for a second, as if he wanted to touch his lips again. Instead, he tucked his hair into place. 

Pulling his chair upright from where it had fell, Ivan sat and continued working.


	30. rochu "things you said when you were crying"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: blood, graphic descriptions of a car crash, person going into shock

“Be brave.” Ivan’s smile was steady in the face of Yao’s shaking hands, his expression calm and unreadable even now.

Yao choked out a laugh. “How can you say that?”

Ivan just smiled again, eyes drifting off to the side.

“Hey, no-  lā shǐ, look at me,” Yao cursed. 

The car sat in the middle of the road, blinkers clicking, soft and regular under the sounds of screaming, shouting, and crying that surrounded them. People ran from car to car, searching for friends, family. 

The truck that hit them was on it’s side now, the tank on it’s back twisted, bent, curved around the front of a bus - the driver was strewn out on the road, one of his passengers halfway through the window. Another lay crushed between two seats, seats that may as well have been made from paper for the way they had folded together on impact. 

Yao couldn’t see the driver of the truck. Didn’t want to. 

Ivan’s eyes came back to his, half closed, smile still in place beneath his broken nose. “Where’s Toris?”

Yao bit his lip. His throat closed, hands clenching in Ivan’s shirt. He didn’t answer.

Ivan didn’t need him to. 

“Okay,” Ivan whispered, closing his eyes. “Okay.”

“Ivan,” Yao shook him, regretting it instantly as he winced. “Look at me.”

Ivan’s eyes opened, finding Yao’s and holding them. He smiled again, a tear slipping out the corner of his eye and into his ear. “Okay.”

Yao managed a smile in return. “So obedient.”

Ivan let out a breath, like he might have laughed. “Always, for you.”

Yao swallowed. “Just…” _don’t talk like that_  “…keep looking at me.”

Tipped on it’s side, their car seemed more like a toy, one wheel still spinning. The drivers seat was crumpled inwards, blood soaking into the fabric.  

Yao shifted on the tarmac, the weight of Ivan’s head pressing tiny rocks into his shin. He tried not to move too much, but Ivan gasped anyway, another tear dripping into his hair. 

Digging his fingers into Ivan’s shoulders, Yao stilled completely.  “Sorry, sorry, I’m-”

Where were the paramedics? They’d had plenty of time to get there.

Yao glanced around, ignoring the roiling in his gut. It was useless, trying to call for help. People were shouting, everywhere, screaming, shaking, there was a fire, children crying, the smell of cooking meat and burnt rubber, little fingers on broken bodies-

“Yao.”

Yao closed his eyes. His fingers tingled, numb. 

“Look at me?”

Nodding, he kept his eyes shut.

“Yao.” Ivan’s voice was strained.

Letting out a shaking breath, Yao opened his eyes. “Okay.”

Ivan was pale, dirt on his cheeks and in his hair, but he was still smiling. Yao slid a hand over his cheek, brushing the bruised skin. It had to have hurt, but Ivan leaned into the touch, lines around his mouth easing.

They sat like that for minutes, maybe. Just minutes, and then the paramedics were on them, finally there, finally - reaching for Yao and not Ivan. He jerked away, ignoring the flash of pain in his thigh, but then the paramedics had a stretcher, were lifting Ivan onto it, wheeling him away.

“Sir?”

Yao blinked, looked at the woman in front of him, tall, brown haired, a streak of something dark on her neck. 

“He broke his ribs,” he told her. “I don’t know how many, but he couldn’t move and there-” there had been blood, seeping onto Yao’s leg. “He hit his head; he has a concussion.”

She made a noise of acknowledgement, but it was clear her focus was on him. “I’m going to put you in the same van, okay?” She was speaking gently, like he might not agree with her.

Yao nodded as well, because that was all he could do, because he had glanced away and could see workers on the other side of the car, looking inside, could see one man with wet cheeks as he moved a giant metal claw forwards, another man’s hands shaking as he turned away, moving on to the next wreck, the sound of metal wrenching, tearing-

There was a blanket settling over his shoulders, and Yao flinched, almost knocking it off again. The woman pulled his arm around her neck, taking his weight. “Come on,” she said, voice soft. 

The crook of his elbow felt sticky.

The ambulance was clean and white on the inside, Ivan and someone else already being treated. After settling him on a seat, the woman left, closing the doors behind her and thumping twice. There was a moment of delay, and then they were moving, sirens wailing.

Yao looked straight at Ivan, whose eyes were closed now, a mask over his face feeding him oxygen. He looked at him, repeating Ivan’s words to himself as his eyes stung, vision blurred so he couldn’t make out Ivan’s body anymore. 

“Be brave.” His voice shook, so he said it again. “Be brave.”


	31. USUK "things you said when you were scared"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plus "things you said that I wasn't meant to hear"
> 
> Warnings: teeeeeeeeeny tiny bit of blood, mugging

Well. This was  _not_  the way he’d thought his first date would end.

The movie had been excellent. There was even hand-holding, and when they left the theatre Alfred had pictured a bit of awkward conversation, a stop by a diner, maybe a kiss goodnight, but not this.

Not a guy that looked like a rip off of Kenny from South Park waving a knife in his face. Although he supposed it was smart. Pull the drawstrings enough and the hood would hide the guy’s face, and he wouldn’t have to get rid of a balaclava afterwards.

Alfred refused to think about what ‘after’ might mean. 

“Dude, I’m not-”

“Shut the fuck up kid,” the man’s voice was muffled by the material covering it, harsh but calm, and shit that was not a good sign. “Hands up.”

Alfred swallowed, slowly raising his arms. “You don’t want me to get it for you?” His voice wasn’t shaking, and he took a moment to be glad of that. 

The man snorted, moving forward. “You think I’m an idiot?” 

Alfred really didn’t.

He tried not to shudder as the guy leaned in, arm brushing Alfred’s stomach, and reached into the pocket of his jacket. “You wanna swap?” he joked weakly as the man pulled out the taser he’d been hiding. 

There was no response, but his taser got chucked into the wall of the alley, clattering to the ground. Alfred closed his eyes and prayed to god, to whatever or whoever would listen, that Arthur hadn’t heard that. 

He felt the man digging through his back pockets, finding his wallet. There was a moment of silence but for rustling paper, then-

“Fucking hell, $20?”

Alfred laughed. 

There was a curse, and the knife was at his throat, Alfred’s laugh petering off.

“You think this is funny, kid?”

“No,” Alfred gritted his teeth into a mockery of a smile. “I really don’t.”

And of course, that was when it all went to shit.

“Alfred? It’s been ages, surely you found the toil-”

Alfred’s eyes snapped open. “Artie, go away!” His voice was cruel, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. “Now!”

Maybe he hadn’t seen, maybe there was still time, maybe-

Arthur let out a shout and the knife dug deeper into his neck, drawing blood. Alfred could hear him yelling about police in the background, but all his attention was on the man in front of him, their eyes locked.

“You don’t wanna do this,” Alfred said, throat tight.

The man raised an eyebrow.

“A mugging? No one will chase you for that. But a murder?” Alfred swallowed, feeling the blade dig deeper still as he did so. “You don’t want that.”

The knife slid around, resting just above his jugular. Alfred’s heart beat harder, as if trying to milk whatever time it had left.

“Alfred!” Arthur’s voice was terrified, agonised, and Alfred pressed his palms into the fabric of his jeans. 

“You definitely don’t want the trouble of  _two_  murders,” he whispered, refusing to look away.

Arthur’s shouting seemed to have attracted attention, and a window above them rattled open. “Will you  _shut the fuck up_  down there?”

The man’s eyes flickered upwards, then over Alfred’s shoulder, narrowing. He pulled back, and Alfred had a second to hope that was it, then there was a fist flying into his face. Alfred stumbled back with a hand to his cheek, the man’s eyes crinkling in what might have been a sneer, and without another word, he was gone. 

Well.

Alfred remained still for another moment, then it was like a dam breaking as he let out a breath, then gasped in another, and another, desperate. He swayed a bit, sinking down to the ground, and oh, there was a wall, since when was he that close to a wall? Except he didn’t really care, because it meant he could lean back and concentrate on breathing and feel his lungs working and his eyes pricking from being held open too long. And Arthur was there, right up close, face pinched and drawn with horror and fear, and he was loud, god was he loud, so Alfred just drew him in, closing his arms around his boyfriend, holding Arthur tight as he shook himself to pieces.

Arthur stopped yelling, going still and quiet, and Alfred let out a trembling breath like a silent scream into his shoulder.

“Well,” It took two minutes for Alfred to break the silence, but when he did he was okay again, he could pass for normal. “How about we stay home for our next date, yeah?”

Arthur punched him in the side, hard enough he winced, but then he was finally wrapping his own arms under Alfred’s own, burying his head in his neck - and yep, he was still bleeding, and Arthur had pulled back with the kind of expression you couldn’t  _not_  laugh at, all horrified and disgusted and half-way fascinated. Alfred’s cheek throbbed when he smiled.

“You bled on me.” Arthur glared, his face resolving to look more offended than anything, and Alfred tried not to laugh again, he really did. “Asshole.”

Alfred held out his still-shaking hands in penance and pulled Arthur close again. Though he made sure to keep him on the other side of his neck that time. 

After a while, Alfred’s butt started to hurt. “Do you think we should call the police, maybe?”

Arthur nodded into his jacket. “In a minute.”

If his voice cracked a little as he said it, well that was Arthur’s business and no one else’s.  


End file.
